


Constructive Interference

by st4rlabsforever (omaken)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Snark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-07-26 09:30:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7569007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omaken/pseuds/st4rlabsforever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Constructive interference (n.): the interference of two or more waves of equal frequency and phase, resulting in their mutual reinforcement and producing a single amplitude equal to the sum of the amplitudes of the individual waves.</p><p> </p><p>In which Cisco learns to deal with life after the Flashpoint Paradox and Hartley learns he may have a thing for nerdy engineers with penchants for graphic tees. More specifically, just one nerdy engineer with a penchant for graphic tees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i've been writing this since the s2 finale and it's almost finished. figured i'd get this out before the new season premieres.

When Cisco woke up the morning after they had defeated Zoom, he knew something had gone horribly, horribly wrong. _Had_ being the operating word.

He could feel it deep in his bones. Could feel it in the very fabric of the timestream. The accelerator explosion. Iris. Barry. _The Flash_. All gone. And in their place, something else had taken hold.

Cisco was just glad that whatever Barry had done to reset the timeline had worked. Even still, fragments of the fractured timeline haunted his dreams.

He dreamed of Barry living out his life with his parents, but still not happy, not when he didn’t have his powers; of Caitlin and Ronnie finally going on that honeymoon to Tahiti; of Iris and Eddie getting their happily-ever-after, the byline _Iris West-Allen_ lost somewhere in the annals of time.

He dreamed of his own life without the STAR Labs team. Of the same crappy relationship with his family. Of long nights working for the real Harrison Wells, only as a janitor on the night shift, not Wells’s favorite scientist. And he couldn’t describe how he knew it, but just as he knew the Reverse Flash had actually killed him that day in front of the containment field, he knew that these dreams were so much more than just spindles and complexes and delta waves. They weren’t even visions from an alternate universe. He knew without a doubt that this had happened right here on Earth-1.

And that was a wake-up call if he ever had one.

Cisco had started from the very bottom. Between the bullied bullying him and assholes like Hartley routinely telling him that he’d never amount to anything, he was proud of where he stood now. He hadn’t just survived. He’d _thrived_. Risen to the top. Every day, he helped to make an enormous difference in the world. He helped save _lives_.

He wondered how it could’ve all gone wrong so quickly. How could one man effect so much change with one little action? At the center of it all had been the night Nora Allen didn’t die. The timelines wrapped around her so tightly it was as if Cisco could see them with his bare eyes, timelines shimmering and dancing with all the possibilities that would never come to pass now.

And then he was bristling with this deep...rage. That everything he’d built for himself could have been ripped away from him so easily, without a care in the world.

He could only feel relief that Barry had done whatever he’d done to restore the original timeline, but that relief intermingled with heartbreak when he’d realized that Barry had to let his mom go. Again.

Cisco thought about what his life might actually be like without STAR Labs in the picture. And what, really, did he have without it? A pair of perpetually disappointed parents? A brother who, despite their mutual promise to mend their relationship, still barely talked to him? He’d be able to survive, of course; with his talents and resume, one of the competing labs would take him in. But surviving was not the same as _living_ , and he wanted to live. What was life without his found family? Cait, Barry, Iris and Joe, even Wally, had all come to occupy such a big part of his life that he wasn’t sure what he’d do without them.

But he had to try, because he wasn’t naive: with Barry and whatever other speedsters around, the timestream might as well have been china balanced on a tightrope.

Cisco remembered the aftermath of the Singularity, with Barry not talking to him, Caitlin barely a shadow at Mercury Labs, and the psychopath he’d considered a father gone. He hadn’t even had his own lab to work in, since Barry had come to own the place Cisco had called home for the past two years. At least Cisco had had Iris and Joe during that time.

If the time came -- _when_ the time came -- that the team went its separate ways again, he wanted to be ready. He _needed_ to be ready.

*

It only took Cisco a day after Barry had fixed the timeline for him to decide a complete change of pace was in order.

Curiously, it came serendipitously right after Cisco had downed his second coffee of the morning.

_Hartley Rathaway (1m ago)_

_Want to see The Force Awakens tonight?_

Cisco frowned and bit back a _yeah, but not with you_. What had he just told himself? New beginnings? He just hadn’t been expecting to be held to his words so soon.

Hell, why not, though? _Sure_ , Cisco typed back after a moment’s hesitation.

It surprised him to immediately see the little ellipses indicating that Hartley was typing out a response. Cisco wasn’t sure _why_ Hartley had occasionally asked him to hang out, but whatever. He could give this a try just this once. Possibly.

It was just...he couldn’t forget about the EMP explosion or Hartley kicking the crap out of him, not when he remembered it every time Hartley gave him a pat on the shoulder and tried to make small talk with him as they worked on Barry’s tech...not that they collaborated that often, but still.

 _Really?_ Hartley wrote back.

Cisco stared at his phone in confusion. _Yes? Is this a test?_ He replied, knocked back a third cup of straight black, and hissed loudly when it burned the entire way down. If Hartley was pulling his leg and this was all an elaborate prank, Cisco swore he was going to kill him.

The next text came as he slipped out of his apartment. _I mean, you’re actually going to come tonight?_

 _...Isn’t that what I just said?_ Cisco had no idea where this conversation was going, but it hit him as he scrolled up to see if he’d missed some vital talking point. His entire chat history with Hartley seemed to consist of Hartley asking him to some movie or brunch or social event without so much as a response.

Yikes.

Cisco _did_ feel bad about that now, but what was he supposed to say? Despite the fact that Hartley occasionally went to bat for the team now, the two of them weren’t friends. Cisco didn’t even have a nickname for Hartley in his phone, which was probably the most telling sign.

But he followed up his previous text with a _Don’t worry. I’m actually coming. See ya at 10 tonight._

A part of Cisco still wasn’t entirely sure why he was agreeing to this, but maybe it was about time to meet Hartley halfway. It was only a movie, anyway, and it wasn’t like Cisco had anything better to do on a Monday night, Netflix and a possible boredom eating marathon notwithstanding.

*

“I’m just saying, man. You’re a scientist. You should be watching Star Trek,” Cisco said.

Hartley had been shocked when Cisco had shown up on his doorstep, despite the fact that Cisco had confirmed three times that yes, he was still coming tonight. Did he really come off as that flaky? Offense taken.

They were on their way to the midnight showing of _The Force Awakens_ , and by _on their way_ , Cisco meant _on foot_. As in, all four (4!) miles from Hartley’s apartment to the the theater. Normally, Cisco wouldn’t have complained, but: ... _four miles_. Hartley apparently enjoyed the exercise, which Cisco was immediately filing under _Hartley Rathaway is an alien_.

(“Quit complaining,” Hartley had said. “Your body will thank me for this later.”

“This is adding like, an extra hour to our commute. Each way. I could be solving the new Project Euler problem right now.” [1]

“I finished it in fifteen minutes.” Hartley had smirked, and he’d definitely been getting smugger the more flustered Cisco became.)

Hartley scoffed. “What’s wrong with Star Wars? Vader’s robes are top of the line. They’re elegant, but aerodynamic and flexible enough for combat.” He led them into a side alley that Cisco knew would let them out across the street from the cinema.

The shocking thing was Hartley being an even bigger nerd than Cisco -- Cisco was actually willing to cede that title to him, it was that obvious -- and he didn’t seem all that fazed to let it show when it was just the two of them.

“Don’t tell me that’s where you got the idea for the Piper’s cloak from,” Cisco said in disbelief.

If he’d only known how big of a geek Hartley was back when they were both working for Thawne, he would’ve at least had the upper hand in their bickering. He wasn’t even sure Hartley realized how conspicuous he was being, not that Cisco was winning any awards for subtlety, but either the Hartley that had ridiculed that “Han Shot” tee had been a facade, or Hartley had done a complete one-eighty sometime during the last year.

Although...Cisco suddenly remembered a well-placed (in his own opinion, thank you very much, Cait) Harry Potter reference in the pipeline and grinned. Maybe he had Hartley pegged, after all.

“I made my own modifications,” Hartley said primly. There was even a hint of pride in there. “The cloak even amplifies the sonic waves that the gauntlets give off.”

That was...pretty cool, Cisco had to concede, but he’d swallow a scorpion before admitting that out loud.

“Besides,” Hartley continued as they turned a corner, “where’s your costume?”

Cisco rolled his eyes. “I’m a work in progress. And Vibe doesn’t need a costume to be cool.”

“Well, tell Vibe the goggles are tacky when he wears them with graphic tees from Urban Outfitters. And why are you referring to yourself in the third person?”

Cisco had a very good response to that, but thankfully he was spared from any actual thinking of excuses by the distraction that followed.

_HELP!_

They froze in their tracks. A woman’s voice from just around the corner. Cisco turned to Hartley and saw the same expression of shock mirrored there before they were both sprinting towards the source.

Dammit, maybe Hartley had a point about the exercise because Cisco was already huffing and puffing by the time they’d sprinted around the corner, Hartley several dozen steps in front of him.

“HELP! PLEASE!”

Two men in black ski masks were struggling with a young woman who was barely older than himself, if Cisco had to guess. There was an unmarked van with its side doors open, and it didn’t take Cisco’s adrenaline-fueled brain long to figure out what was happening here. Hey, he’d watched Criminal Minds, at least until they’d tried to turn Reid into a drug addict.

“Hey!” Cisco shouted on instinct, which he immediately realized was the wrong thing to do, given the gun that was now being cocked in his direction.

“Who the hell are you?” In the darkness of the alley and with the ski masks on, Cisco wasn’t entirely sure which of them had said it.

He held his hands up defensively, as if they could actually stop bullets, when he felt it: tiny impulses of vibrational energy expanding outwards from his palms, just like when Black Siren had cornered him and Cait.

A blink, and the men were out cold against the brick and mortar behind them. It was all rather a bit anticlimactic, actually. From all of the fights he’d witnessed Barry get into (which was, in a word, all of them), he’d been under the impression that it would be a long, drawn-out struggle. Not so. This was almost comically easy, though to be fair, perhaps these grunts just weren’t particularly evil.

He took stock of Hartley, who looked more shaken than physically hurt. Still, he had to check. “You okay?”

“How…?” Hartley gaped at the unconscious bodies.

“It’s...a thing I can do sometimes,” Cisco said, which was putting it lightly. _Sometimes_ really meant _only when I’m in grave danger_ , but he wasn’t about to say that.

Hartley still seemed a bit too shocked to say anything. That was fine, though, because a whimper from further down the alley reminded Cisco of their reason for this impromptu workout in the first place.

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” Cisco asked when he was by her side. She only sobbed wildly, trying but failing to get any words out.

There was the sound of a door sliding closed. “Let’s get out of here!” A voice shouted from inside the van. Shit, Cisco hadn’t even thought to check if it was occupied or not. The revving of an engine, and it was speeding off into the night.

And that seemed to rouse a reaction of out the girl, because in the next second, she was on her feet and attempting to chase after the van. “Claire! No, come back!” she wailed.

Hartley was next to her now, an arm on her shoulder as he walked her over to the wall, where she sat down. “Can you tell us why those men tried to take you?” he asked, crouched down in front of her.

“I don’t know, but my sister...th-they tried to take her, too. They had her in the van, and now she’s gone.”

Hartley shushed her gently. “What’s your name?”

“Ch-Charlotte.”

“Look, Charlotte. We’re going to find those men and we’re going to get Claire back, okay?” Hartley talked to her in a soothing voice that Cisco honestly hadn’t thought him capable of, but it warmed Cisco’s heart to see her relaxing by degrees. Sure, Hartley had always come when the team needed his help. It was just...surprising to see this more caring side of him.

“How are you going to to do that?” she asked, and Hartley gave Cisco a look.

Catching on to what Hartley was getting at, Cisco crouched down in front of her, too. “Do you have something that belonged to Claire? Or maybe a picture of her?”

As she dug through her purse, Hartley asked “do you really think that’ll work?”

Cisco shrugged. “I’ve gotta try. I mean, as long as she’s _in_ the picture, it’s worth a shot, right?”

“Here. Will this work?” Charlotte handed him a small photo of her and her sister, one of those cheesy photo booth strips that you could get at the movies or the arcade. They looked so happy, Charlotte giving her sister bunny ears and Claire faking a mustache with her finger, and that more than anything bolstered his determination. This was a _family._ A family that was in danger of being ripped apart. He might not’ve been that close with Dante, but he would move heaven and Earth for him if he was kidnapped again, just as he would see to it that these sisters were reunited.

When he touched the photo, the vibe came so easily to him he wasn’t sure why he’d been worried it wouldn’t work in the first place. The van was still moving, location in flux, but he could clearly see Claire lying unconscious in the back of the van.

“Can I keep this until we find her?” he asked. At her nod, he helped pull her to her feet. “There’s a movie theater across the street. Call the police, and they’ll take care of these guys.” He gestured at the unconscious men behind him.

She nodded, sized him up, and quietly said “Thank you...for saving me.”

“Of course.”

And then she was running across the street.

Cisco let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. At least he’d held himself together long enough that Charlotte thought he was actually going to be able to find and rescue her sister. Once he got a lock on the location, what then? The sonic blasts were a wild card, but they’d come through for him twice, now. Maybe third time’s the charm? He had to try, in any case.

“Hey, let’s reschedule tonight, okay?” he finally said to Hartley. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Whoa, wait. Where are you going?” Hartley stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“I made a promise to her.” Cisco had to go now. The seconds were ticking by and he still barely had a plan and every minute he didn’t act was another minute she could be dead and--

“ _We_ made a promise,” Hartley corrected, crossing his arms defiantly.

“And how exactly are you going to help?”

“The gauntlets?” Hartley raised an eyebrow. “Or did you forget I took down a Time Wraith after you and Caitlin couldn’t?”

That was still a sore point for Cisco, but Hartley _did_ have a point about being useful in a fight. Maybe. Probably far more useful than Cisco would be, go figure.

“Fine,” Cisco grumbled, then when Hartley whipped out his phone and began typing away, said “what’re you doing?”

“Calling an Uber. I need the gauntlets from my apartment.”

“See? I told you walking was a bad idea.” He hadn’t actually said those exact words, but: semantics.

“No, you didn’t. Your complaining was based on pure laziness,” Hartley said haughtily.

“And I was right in the end, wasn't I? Now we’re wasting time waiting for a freaking taxi.”

“You have a better idea?” Hartley snapped back, irritated.

“As a matter of fact--” Maybe it was because he was still in the Vibe mindset, but an idea had suddenly popped into mind. He’d been thinking about it intermittently ever since learning he could open a breach to Earth-2, but had never actually bothered trying it since it hardly seemed necessary. If he could open a breach to an entirely different dimension, then surely he could open one to another location within Earth-1. On paper, it sounded far easier than interdimensional travel.

He slipped the goggles on -- because hey, he’d at least come prepared enough for this part; the past couple of months had taught him to be ready for anything -- and focused on Hartley’s apartment. He’d only been there once to pick Hartley up, but he remembered the vase of daffodils on the kitchen table and the freakishly neat workstation, gauntlets and frayed wires inclusive.

The breach in front of him shimmered and billowed. Conjuring it was the easy part. He just hoped it would actually take them where he wanted it to. With his luck, it would probably drop them on another universe in the middle of a nuclear war.

“Here goes nothing.” He grabbed Hartley by the elbow and they charged in…

...and landed flat on their asses in the middle of Hartley’s kitchen.

“Impressive,” Hartley said after dusting himself off. He was looking around his apartment like he was seeing it for the very first time.

Silently, Cisco was pleased with himself. How could he not be? He’d figured that one out all on his own. “Hurry up and grab your stuff. We need to be ready when they finally stop driving.”

“Can’t you just get us into the van with her?” Hartley asked from his workstation where he was quickly clipping wires and screwing screws in the gauntlets. “We could be in and out before they even know we’re there.”

“Too risky. Their location keeps changing, and I’m not sure what’ll happen if I vibe us where they were a few seconds ago. Probably end up with a bad case of road rash or something.” Cisco was curious how far he could take his powers, but he also had a healthy sense of self-preservation, thank you very much.

“Eh, that would’ve been too easy, I guess.” Hartley slipped the gauntlets on and shrugged on the cloak.

Cisco snorted. “Careful, or people might mistake you for a jedi.”

“Shut up. I’m ready whenever you are.”

***

_Cisco dreamed of a world where Barry had saved his mother. Without Eobard Thawne, the Flash didn’t exist in 2014. Miraculously, though, beyond all rhyme and reason, the Cisco in this world could still vibe on alternate timelines._

_He could feel his alternate self’s fear at the visions; without Harry or Stein or the rest of the team to help explain them to him, he’d been lost and confused. Terrified. Woke up screaming night after night from dreams he couldn’t possibly understand._

_Cisco called him the Lost One._

***

“Why is it always a warehouse?” Cisco groaned. They’d finally gotten a lock on where Claire had been taken, and he couldn’t say he cared much for the choice of venue.

“Can you get us inside?”

“Only to Claire. That’s all I’ve got from the vibes, but she’s surrounded by goons right now. If I knew more about the layout of the building, though…”

“On it.” Hartley pulled out a small, metallic sphere from his pocket.

Heh.

“There are _so_ many jokes I could make about Harry Potter and the golden snitch right now,” Cisco said, because there was no way he could let this slide.

Hartley shot him a withering look, then turned his attention back to the sphere, placed it on the ground, and pulled out his phone. “Time to do some recon for us, little guy.” The whirring was the first sound Cisco heard as the sphere came to life, four spindly legs and a flashing, red eye rearing to go. Come to think of it, it kind of looked like…

“Let me guess. Doctor Who?” Cisco asked. The pile of evidence continued to stack itself.[2]

“Maybe…” Hartley kept his eyes focused on the screen.

“Why is it you have such a thing for the bad guys?”

“They have cooler stuff. Anyway, this guy,” Hartley tapped a button and the robot scurried off towards the warehouse, “can map out the interior for us. Then you should be able to sneak us inside.” His phone displayed the video feed from the robot’s eye. Huh, nifty.

“If we can get the drop on them, I think we can take them out.” With Hartley’s tech and Cisco’s vibes, it suddenly felt like the world was at their fingertips. Like they could do anything.

“Any chance you can get those sonic blasts working again?”

Cisco held out a hand. Tentatively. He could feel something weak gathering there, but it was like the words were on the tip of his tongue and he couldn’t remember them for the life of him.

“‘Fraid not. Can you cover offense? I’ve got some ideas for support.”  The adrenaline was thrumming through his veins, though, and if push came to shove, he was certain he could figure it out.

Hartley nodded. “There are...eighteen men inside. Wait,” he scrunched his forehead in concentration, “twenty. And it sounds like there’s two patrolling the outside perimeter.”

“How good’s your hearing?” Cisco asked curiously. Hartley had never actually clarified that.

“Good enough, I guess,” Hartley said with a shrug.” Look, the patrolmen meet after every lap,” he pointed at the screen.

The video feed on the phone was green and noisy, but Cisco could make out the details well enough. “I’ll get us to the trees behind their meeting point.”

It had been hard for him to control their landing, _of course_.

Hartley had let out a loud hiss and a “get off of me,” because he’d ended up beneath Cisco in their pile of limbs, _of course_.

Cisco had, _of course_ , sniped back with a “maybe you shouldn’t have decided to land under me,” because Hartley could’ve at least been grateful Cisco hadn’t landed them in the midst of said nuclear war. Yet.

And their not-whispering had, _of course_ , attracted the attention of the guards.

In other words, everything that could’ve gone wrong, had.

“Who’s there?!” Twin flashlight beams were aimed in their direction.

“Shit. Think fast,” Hartley said, followed by the release of a couple of blasts from the gauntlets. The waves didn’t even make a sound when they connected with their intended targets. Cisco was a bit envious of how easy Hartley made it seem. He knew he’d be able to easily engineer a pair of his own gauntlets, but somehow, that felt like cheating when he’d been giving his own innate set of powers.

“There’s a dampener. To silence the blasts,” Hartley said, seemingly apropos of nothing. It was good to know, though. A clever bit of engineering.

“Nice,” Cisco said. He was still catching his breath.

Hartley poked tentatively at one of the guards with his boots. “Should we move them?”

“What? Your supervillain rulebook doesn’t have a section on what to do with hostages?” Cisco asked dryly.

“Hardly. I might be able to get you an audience with Voldemort, though, if that’s what you want.”

“Ha ha. Anyway,” Cisco straightened up, “I think I know what to do with them.”

He slid a hand into the nearest guard’s jacket, then along the lining of the kevlar vest, which reeked of body odor. Gross. Also, kevlar? What exactly had they gotten themselves into, here?

“You know,” Hartley said from somewhere above him, “I’m pretty sure somnophilia is illegal in all fifty states.”

“You’re just jealous it’s not you I’m feeling up.” Cisco didn’t even regret saying it, because this was a war of words that he was definitely not going to lose. He moved to the other guard and did the same, checking all the pockets and hidden compartments he could find. “Alright, stand back.”

When Cisco looked up, though, Hartley was looking away, and was he blushing? It was hard to tell in the dark, but his cheeks definitely had a tinge to them that hadn’t been there before. He wasn’t sure why Hartley was suddenly flustered; he’d been the one who’d made the bondage comments to Barry, after all.

“Cat got your tongue?” Cisco asked wryly, because he couldn’t resist poking a sleeping lion, apparently. Or, not _really_ a lion, per se, more like a ruffled tomcat.

To his credit, Hartley only rolled his eyes. “Where do you want me?”

“Just get behind me.” Cisco slid the goggles on and created another breach. It got easier every time he did it, which should probably have frightened him, images of Reverb flashing across his mind, but he could only be relieved that he was easing into his powers more smoothly, now. When the breach fully materialized, he turned to Hartley. “Help me push them in.”

“Where does it lead to?” Hartley asked, but was already down on his knees and helping to roll the unconscious bodies towards it.

“CCPD. Figured they must have rap sheets already, and Joe’ll know what to do with them.”

“Smart.”

With the bodies finally gone in the void, Cisco let the connection close. He blinked, and the realization that this was actually happening washed over him. In theory, he'd known himself to be capable of more than just vibing on the locations of rogue metas or acting as an interdimensional Skype, especially after seeing what Reverb could do, but to actually be in the field on his own -- or, almost on his own -- was another thing entirely. The realization quickly turned to nervousness and intermingled with adrenaline that settled deep in the pit of his stomach.

Now or never.

Turning to Hartley, he said, “there's still time for you to turn back,” then “...if you want. It could be dangerous,” when Hartley only continued his deadpan stare. Cisco was determined to follow this thing through, no matter what happened, but that didn’t mean he’d drag anyone else down with him, and he still wasn’t even sure why Hartley was so insistent on helping him.

“And who’s going to stop you from getting yourself killed?”

“I can take care of myself.” He’d figure something out. He always did.

“I found you sleeping in your lab with a slurpee all over your face,” Hartley pointed out.[3]

“That was one time! And it was like, a month ago.” Plus, the slurpee was part of his creative process.

Hartley didn’t respond further, only continued to give him a look so dry Cisco thought Hartley might be in danger of cracking and blowing away in the wind. It was effective, though. Cisco squirmed as the silence stretched on. He could never stay quiet for long periods at a time.

“So…” Cisco ventured.

Hartley sighed. “I’m not leaving you to do this alone.”

Minutes passed, or maybe they were seconds that felt like minutes, or possibly they were just minutes that felt like minutes -- Cisco knew his concept of time wasn’t the greatest these days. He pondered just how different this version of Hartley was. Where he remembered being blown back, unconscious, by the force of the makeshift pulse bombs, everyone else saw a dimpled smile and a helping hand.

_Hey Barry, how was your trip?_

Cisco thought he might finally understand how Barry had felt in that moment, perplexed that it had been _Hartley_ who’d saved him from the Time Wraith. And okay, Cisco had been working with Hartley for well over a year now, but that had mostly been in the form of rushed phone conversations. Even then, it had only been when things had gotten really bad. Hartley had never volunteered his help -- they’d always gone to him. So Cisco wasn’t entirely sure why Hartley was proffering his help now, and for something so inconsequential as a kidnapping. He was still half-expecting for there to be some nefarious ulterior motive here, or at the very least, some form of quid pro quo.

“It’s the right thing to do,”  Hartley said quietly, seeming to have read his mind. “I’ve been trying to turn over a new leaf, in case you haven’t noticed.” There was no trace of his usual snark, though, back straightened and a reserved determination in his eye.

Well, okay. For a second, it felt like it was Barry talking to him right before he ran off to do something brave, but stupid. Like, say, running into a warehouse full of armed criminals.

But Cisco was nothing if not adaptable. He’d try his best to roll with those determined eyes and that new leaf, as it were. He even allowed himself to grin a little at the prospect of a do-over with Hartley.

“Ready?” he asked, and Hartley nodded.

***

 _Sometimes, the dreams came unbidden to Cisco. Even without Thawne to speed up the accelerator explosion, the Lost One still had access to his powers. Just the vibes, as far as Cisco could tell. He remembered Reverb telling him they were all connected, and wondered if the Lost One was somehow drawing on the powers of his doppelgängers_. _And then he remembered that the Lost One was an alternate version of his_ Earth-1 _self. Of himself._

_There was no precedent for the Lost One’s powers. He was the only metahuman to exist on Earth-1 prior to 2020._

***

“I suppose I should get used to these landings,” Hartley said, pressed a hand down on Cisco’s shoulder, and used it to push himself up.

“Ow.” Dammit. Cisco wasn’t a cushion, and made sure Hartley knew it.

Hartley ignored the complaints entirely. “Where are we?”

“Storage closet. Your minion passed it just before getting a good look at the holding cell they’re keeping Claire in,” Cisco said as he rubbed his shoulder.

“So, what’s the plan, then?”

“They’re all concentrated around Claire, see?” Cisco indicated on the phone screen as the little robot did another pass-by. They must’ve been expecting intruders after that stunt in the alley. “Think you can create a diversion?”

Hartley nodded.

“That should give me enough cover to sneak into her cell without getting shot.”

“Got it.” He primed the gauntlets, which lit up and let off a high-pitched whir, and tossed a pair of earpieces to Cisco. “Let me know when you’ve got her. Are you ready?”

Cisco took a deep breath.

As ready as he’d ever be, he supposed. They slipped out of the closet and Hartley disappeared around the corner. Not to his death, Cisco hoped. But of the two of them, Hartley had much more combat experience from his brief stint as the Pied Piper, which was something, at least.

The explosive commotion followed by the guards running in the opposite direction was his cue. Getting himself into Claire’s cell was the easy part. The actions -- creating the breach, stepping through it, nearly fudging up the landing -- were practically muscle memory at this point, and before he could really process it, he was standing in front of the girl in the photo. Dirty blonde. Curls. Eyes wild.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said, but when he tried to pull her up, the chains connected to the manacles around her wrists went taut. The chains that were _bolted into the ground_. Cisco could literally feel the vibrations flowing off the chains as he tried pulling on them, his entire body like a giant tuning fork. It was like a breeze blowing across his skin on a cool, spring morning, only about a hundred times more intense.

He’d deal with that later, though. Right now, he had to figure out how to get these things _un_ bolted.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He hadn’t even noticed the chains in his vibes.

 _“What is it?”_ Hartley grunted in his ear. Cisco could hear the sound of heavy gunfire and prayed they’d make it out of this alive.

There was no way he’d ever be able to pull these chains out of the ground, unless…

He splayed out a palm against them, the metallic links frigid on his skin, willing whatever it was that allowed him to knock out those men in the alley to come to him again, but...nothing. He screwed his eyes shut in concentration, and still, the dimensional powers that be refused him.

“Someone’s coming,” Claire said, frantic, eyes darting to the entryway down the hall.

“Fuck.” Cisco backed away. On some level, he knew his shoulderblades had slammed into the iron bars behind him, cramped as the cell was, but all he could feel right now was the presto rhythm his heart was beating out.

_“What the hell is happening, Cisco?!”_

He tried one more time, smacking at the chains in frustration when they didn’t give. The footsteps were getting closer now. An angry staccato march that promised doom and gloom.

What would Harry think when Cisco never followed through with his promise to check up on Earth-2? What would his _parents_ think when CCPD showed up on their doorstep, showing them their youngest son’s body riddled with bullet holes?

Come _on_.

This time, when he pounded on the chains, the resulting clamor was deafening. They shattered with a crack, although he wasn’t sure ‘shattered’ was quite the right word to describe the pile of metallic powder now lining the floor of the cell.  

“Yes!” He fist bumped the air. _Celebrate now, ask questions later_.

 _“Everything okay?”_ Hartley asked. Cisco could hear him panting even through the comms.

“I’ve got Claire. Getting her out of here now.”

“Wait!” Cisco already had the breach open and had been about to step through when a cold hand on his wrist stopped him. “There are more of us here.”

“What?”

“In the basement level. I heard them talking when they first brought me in,” Claire said, words practically slurring together at the end.

“Fuck.” Cisco wasn’t one to swear very often -- too angry and macho for his tastes -- and maybe it was the stress of the situation at hand, but he wanted to let out an entire string of expletives to any and all gods possibly in existence. Let it be known that he _Was. Not. Amused._

“Did you get that?” he added, after he’d had a moment to cool down.

 _“What? The profanity, or the other prisoners?”_ Hartley quipped.

It was good to hear that Hartley had enough energy to keep up their banter. Not really. But things must not’ve been _that_ bad if he could keep up a steady stream of chitchat.

He turned to Claire. “How do we get to this basement?”

“I don’t know,” she shook her head, “they never took me there. I only heard them talking when they thought I was still knocked out.”

Fantastic. Change of plans, then. He closed the portal, opened another, and took her with him.

They were stood outside the CCPD precinct. “Tell the police what happened to you. We’ll take care of the others.” Better to keep her out of the crossfire, especially if she wasn’t able to offer up any more info on the layout of the compound.

“Oh, and uh--” he tapped at his goggles, “much appreciated if you leave out the part where me and my friend saved the day. Secret identities and all that.” How did it go again? Rule number one? In any case, he knew he had to separate his personal life from whatever persona he’d slipped into tonight.

Claire only smiled and said a hurried “thank you” before rushing up the steps and through the entrance.

Cisco didn’t have time to so much as breathe a sigh of relief, though, remembering the other prisoners and Hartley still in the thick of things.

“How’re things on your end?” he asked once he was back inside the warehouse.

 _“Just peachy. I’ve got ten of them down, but I’m trapped here.”_ There was the sound of a small explosion through the comms before Cisco felt and heard it with his own ears a second later.

“Where’s here?”

_“I don’t know!”_

Cisco groaned, not that he’d be able to get to Hartley without an image of his location, anyway. He whipped out the phone Hartley had given him and tinkered with the settings on the minion. Bingo. Heat-seeking mode. Maybe there was something to evil, robotic spiders after all.

...and then he wanted to stomp on the stupid thing when it skittered up to him like a dog that had fetched a stick and expected a reward. “Life form identified,” the screen of the phone read. _Of course_ he’d been the closest human to it.

“Bad Fido,” Cisco mumbled.

_“What?”_

“Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

“Find Hartley,” Cisco commanded. The little red light in the center of its body blinked up at him curiously.

“Find Hartley Rathaway?”

Silence.

“Find master?” he ventured. The slender legs quivered, and the robot shot off into the distance. Cisco’s eyes were in grave danger of rolling out of his head in sheer exasperation.

He sprinted, hot on the robot’s heels, and damn if it wasn’t a little embarrassing that that thing was faster than him. “Hang tight. I’m coming to you.”

_“Wait! They’re armed!”_

Cisco didn’t think that would be a problem, though. He hadn’t noticed it when he’d dropped Claire off at the precinct, but whatever had allowed him to shatter those chains and stop those men from taking Charlotte was still with him, thrumming through his veins as he ran. Aching to be let out. And Cisco wasn’t about to look this particular gift horse in the mouth.

As he neared it, Cisco could feel the chaos of the firefight before he heard it, but tried his best to block out that noise. It only grew more intense the closer he got. Gunshots felt like stabs to the gut, the sound waves from Hartley’s gauntlets like a continuous blast of wind, the collision of a body with the wooden walls like a shockwave seeping through his entire body. He felt _everything_.

Rounding a final corner, the little bot made a beeline straight for Hartley, who was partially hidden behind a stack of crates for cover as he peeked over the top, sent a blast over his shoulder, then disappeared from view again.

 _Now or nothing_.

He held up both hands. Could feel the energy building at his fingertips.

“Hey, assholes!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, and all eyes turned to him. Apparently, he had a death wish.

The vibrations erupted from his fingers, and it was like time had slowed down. The blast was more like a pulse, spreading outwards from his body and engulfing the entire room. Windows shattered. Light bulbs burst, then showered the bodies below them with glass. Crates tipped over. And the men toppled like puppets cut from their strings, guns clattering loudly on the concrete flooring. A fine layer of dust settled over the room.

For a moment, he stood in front of it all in shock. Had he really just done that? It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once, but maybe a 60-40 split. Probably 70-30, actually. Were they...dead? He thought he could see the rise and fall of one of the goons’s chests, but at this distance, he couldn’t be sure, and his legs hadn’t come back online yet.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” Hartley came out from behind the crates, dust clouding the lenses of his spectacles, the robot trailing behind him.

“I don’t -- I didn’t…” Cisco spluttered, still astonished. “Are you okay?”

Hartley tapped his ear. “Cochlear implants. Shielded me from the worst of that pulse you sent out.”

“I don’t even know what that was…” he said weakly.

“Remember the dimensional tuning fork? A pulse at the right frequency can disrupt the brain and send the body into unconsciousness.” Hartley knelt down and placed a hand over one of their mouths. “They’re still breathing. Besides, I can hear their hearts beating.”

“Creepy,” Cisco muttered.

“Whatever. Also, those other girls? They’re beneath us somewhere. I can hear them now.”

“Yeah, I gathered that already.” Cisco finally regained some of his spunk now that he knew he wouldn’t be adding, oh...a dozen counts of third-degree murder to his non-existent rap sheet. “Any ideas how to get down there?”

Hartley shrugged. “Be nice if you could just beam us down.”

“I can’t! I already told you I need to be able to picture the location in my head before breaching there. I could accidentally drop us into a wall or something if we’re not careful. But maybe...” Cisco held out a fist and let the familiar feeling wash over him. He did his best to approximate the area directly below them, but without an actual blueprint, he was only guessing at the depth.

He crouched and scooped up the little robot. “Ready to be a hero?”

“Whoa, wait! What are you doing?” Hartley looked alarmed.

“Sending him to scope the place out. Better him than us if I got the breach wrong. And if I’m right, I can use the video feed to get us down there.”

Hartley sighed, a little long-sufferingly. Taking the robot from Cisco’s hands, he held it at eye level. “I just want you to know that your sacrifice won’t be in vain, little guy.” It only swiveled its head in response, casting a dull, red glow across Hartley’s face.

Cisco rolled his eyes. He _could not believe_. “Come on, you’re wasting time. Just build another one later.”

But that was evidently the wrong thing to say, if Hartley’s sputtering was any indication. “Do you know how much work went into this?”

“Do you know how many people might be suffering right now because you won’t stop talking to your pet robot?”

Hartley sighed again and handed it back to Cisco.

“I see how it is. Making me out to be the bad guy instead.” Cisco tossed the minion into the fold. It was so light, its terminal velocity honestly wouldn’t be damaging, anyway, regardless of where it ended up, so where did Hartley get off villainizing him?

They waited with bated breath as the video feed blacked out. “Come on, don’t fail me now,” Hartley whispered.

With a crackle and a pop, the feed spluttered back to life, staticky and grainy before the greenish night vision kicked in again.

“Woo!” On instinct, Cisco turned to Hartley and threw his hand out for a high-five, and Hartley...reciprocated? Cisco realized what they’d just done at about the same time as Hartley, who cleared his throat and recomposed himself.

Later, Cisco would say that he’d done it because it was just second nature with the STAR team at this point, so why not? And anyway, this entire night had been a cause célèbre in teamwork, in his opinion.

He draped an arm around Hartley’s shoulders and pulled him close. “Let’s go, you big lug.”

Hartley flashed him a dimpled grin, and they jumped through the proverbial rabbit hole.

*

They’d been flying sky high for the past few minutes, but the second they’d stepped into the basement, it was like someone had clipped their wings. Or, maybe like a dementor had been let loose. In contrast with the main level, the walls here were lined with stone. Cisco could hear the drip-drop of a leaky pipe somewhere to his left, could smell the musty scent of mildew all around him.

The silence was probably the worst part, though. Even without Hartley whispering to him that there weren’t any guards down here, Cisco knew it, and it wasn’t just the audible silence either. The air itself felt stagnant. Like time itself had skidded to a halt.

It was eerie. Unsettling.

There was a makeshift shower along the wall, which didn’t look like it offered much in the way of privacy. In front of them, the hall stretched out farther than they could see in the dim lighting. Cisco half-expected to see torches lining the walls, but there were only a few bare lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. And as far as he could see, dozens of cells just like the one Claire had been held in marked the edges of the hall.

Cisco beat a slow advance, Hartley right by his side, footsteps clacking loudly over the stone tiles. As they walked, he could see that each cell was occupied. The occupants’ wrists were manacled and chained to the ground. Some looked catatonic, others bored, many terrified.

“Who are they?” Cisco managed to get out. He could hear the tremble in his own voice.

“I’m not sure…” Hartley whispered. Under the glow of the fluorescent bulb above, Cisco could see that Hartley’s face was ashen, cheeks gaunt and hollow.

The minion scuttled into and out of the cells, slipping easily between rusting bars, curiously examining the inhabitants, clicking and clacking as its red eye swiveled every which way to take stock of its surroundings.

Hartley’s phone trilled out an alert. “Facial recognition’s getting some matches, look.” He scrolled through the police files that popped up.

Many of the women had been missing for months now, some even for years. He recognized one of them, though he couldn’t remember her name for the life of him, from a lengthy campaign that CCPD had launched a couple of months back. He remembered the posters and the full-precinct meetings that he wasn’t privy to. Figured she’d ended up being the daughter of a wealthy politician, and still, they couldn’t find her.

Hartley had _911_ on the line. Cisco reminded him in a daze that it had to be an anonymous tip, even as the modulator distorted Hartley’s voice beyond all recognition.

The depth and breadth of it all was staggering. He’d known, of course, that the world was a dark and ugly place, but with the Flash team, he’d really only dealt with robberies, hostage situations in banks, mostly situations that could be easily diffused. But there was a whole underworld of fetid iniquity that he had turned a blind eye to. Humans traded as chattel, hustled in back alleys when the sun went down -- they were things he only knew to exist from movies and TV. To be confronted with it, face-to-face, was something else entirely. And he suddenly felt privileged and ashamed, like he and the rest of the team had failed this city.

“The police are on their way. Let’s get them out of their cells,” Hartley said with a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t seem to be faring much better than Cisco, though.

Cisco tried blasting the lock off of the first cell, but it didn’t come. He was about to create another breach when Hartley pushed him gently aside and broke the lock with the gauntlets. Breaking into cell after cell was a monotonous process. Cisco was aware that they should have been doing something to comfort these people -- mostly women, but a couple of them men, too -- but he was still in shock from what he was seeing. They didn’t have blankets or medical kits to treat them. All he could offer were a few comforting words that sounded hollow, even to his own ears.

The silence stretched on and on and on. The cells were open, but none of their occupants bothered to move, instead staring at Cisco and Hartley like this was some sort of trap.

Minutes passed. Cisco scuffed his shoes on the ground, picked at his nails, shivered when a draft blew in from down the hall, and finally sat back down next to Hartley. All he could think about was how many more instances like this one could be happening in Central City even as they waited.

“They’re here,” Hartley said, interrupting Cisco from his thoughts.

It was an effort to stand up. His body ached from the earlier chase through the alley and the race through the labyrinthine halls of the warehouse, but mostly, it was a weariness that settled in his bones and joints and tendons. He wished he could do more. He wished he could apologize on behalf of the society that had failed to find these people. For now, though, he had to believe that the police and the medics would do their jobs properly.

Taking one last look at the cells around him, he transported them back to Hartley’s apartment.  


“Thanks for helping me,” Cisco said softly.

Hartley had already ripped off his boots and was halfway to collapsing on his couch, but Cisco knew his affirmative grunt was a response in itself.

Cisco was exhausted, too. “We’ll see that movie, soon,” he said. Hartley gave another grunt as Cisco stepped into the breach.

He fell asleep as soon as his body hit the bed.

***

_The dreams were never a happy place, but seeing the Lost One driven mad by his visions, not even knowing what the term ‘metahuman’ meant, or that he wasn’t crazy, was too much for Cisco._

_The Lost One dropped out of high school at the end of junior year, still brilliant, but concentration shot by the visions that assaulted him night and day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Project Euler is a series of challenging logic/programming problems geared towards college students but attracts academics of all kinds.[return to text]
> 
> 2 This is from series 1 of the Doctor Who reboot, episode 2, “The End of the World,” where Cassandra employs robotic spiders to scope out the space station.[return to text]
> 
> 3 Imagine Hartley walked in on Cisco at the end of the fourth episode of Chronicles of Cisco.[return to text]


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on an extended vacation and don't have much access to reliable internet right now, but i've had this chapter prepped for posting and drafted for a while now, so enjoy!

Cisco had had a couple of days to think about it, now. For the first time since he’d found out he was a metahuman, he felt like his powers weren’t some necessary evil that he had to live with. He’d only ever used the vibes in a supporting capacity to help the team pinpoint rogue metas, but he saw now that there was so much more he could do with them. The relief on Charlotte and Claire’s faces. Being able to rescue all those people in the warehouse. And his powers were uniquely suited to that sort of thing: tracking down missing people.

It hadn’t even occurred to him to call Barry during that whole fiasco. Surely, that would’ve been the quick, five-second solution, but it just felt weird to talk to Barry after...after everything. And besides, he and Hartley had been able to handle it themselves.

 _Prostitution Ring Stopped by Mystery Saviors_ , the headlines had read the next day.

He’d nicked a couple of case files from CCPD along with a few pieces of evidence that no one would miss. Most of the cases were months old by now, but he figured even if he couldn’t find them alive, their families would at least want the peace of mind of just knowing.

And yet...he still hesitated. The second he decided to vibe on the evidence, Cisco knew this would become a regular thing, and he wasn’t sure if he was quite prepared for that.

He thought of Hartley and their spectacular team-up, and he thought of reaching out to Hartley and dropping a proposal, but something about that rubbed him the wrong way; Hartley had been so tired that night, and the two of them hadn’t mentioned their midnight escapade since. So solo operation it was, then.

But, he was quickly learning, the universe had a funny way of letting these sorts of things play out.

Hartley was over Cisco’s apartment for dinner and a movie, the case files tucked neatly in a corner of Cisco’s work desk, partially hidden but not really, because who’d be coming over his place to snoop, anyway? Most of the team hangouts happened at the West residence, in the lab, or some ritzy bar that he never understood why Barry chose and the rest of the team OK’d.

And he’d never planned on saying anything to Hartley about the vibing, but Hartley was...well, Cisco wasn’t used to people trying to trick answers out of him.

It started innocuously enough.

Cisco chopped the carrots and celery, frowned at the roots protruding from the side of the fattest carrot, and otherwise made small talk with Hartley about what he was up to at Mercury Labs [1], the rave reviews for _The Force Awakens_ , how Team Flash was doing. Cisco was operating by muscle memory at this point. He hardly had to think about his responses as he juggled the cooking with playing the role of good host, which, in retrospect, was his perfectly valid excuse for why he’d been caught off-guard in the next moment. 

“Are you planning to tackle the Brzezinski case tomorrow night or Friday?” Hartley asked, right on the heels of some inane question about how Caitlin was doing.

“I’m thinking Friday. Don’t have to worry about work the next day, right?” Cisco said, and tipped the cutting board towards the pot. _Wait_. _Brzezinski?_ He yelped when the oil splattered back on his his hand.

Hartley smiled like the cat that got the canary, waving the manilla folder from where he was perched at Cisco’s desk.

“It’s not--”

“I was just wondering when I’d have to clear my schedule,” Hartley said over him.

Cisco sighed and turned the burner to low. It wasn’t a _bad_ idea. Lord knew they somehow worked well together, and Cisco kind of enjoyed their banter, and--

Hartley waved the folder enticingly again.

Well. “Sure, why not?” It wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to him. They could always just...stop if it didn’t work out.

Hartley grinned, and they got to planning out schematics, modifications to the gauntlets, and upgrades to the little minion (loathe as he was to admit it, Cisco was actually growing fond of the thing) over a meager pot of chicken soup. The idea of a suit for Cisco was even thrown out there at one point, complete with bulletproof torso. Cisco only prayed he’d never need it.

The movie was forgotten again in all the excitement.

By the time they had finished, it was well past midnight. “Just take the couch. It’s late,” Cisco yawned. Unspoken was the acknowledgment that he could’ve easily transported Hartley home if he’d wanted to.

*

Cisco startled awake with a yell. He’d thought...it had felt so real…

There was a crash from the living room followed by his door slamming open. “What happened?” Hartley asked, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

“Just a bad dream,” Cisco muttered. “Go back to bed.”

“A vibe?”

Sometimes, the fractured timeline bled into his dreams, ‘sometimes’ meaning every single night since they’d defeated Zoom. Cisco had done his best to block it out, but the nightmares persisted. He was just glad they hadn’t progressed to daymares yet. He’d already witnessed his own stay in a psychiatric hospital. What other horrors awaited him?

“It’s fine. Go to sleep, dude.” Hopefully, it was just a result of the timelines settling down.

Hartley didn’t need to be told twice and shuffled back to the couch.

***

“Anything you wanna share with the class, Bar?” Joe asked once the team was gathered around the Cortex.

“Uh, no?” Barry scratched the back of his head and looked round at them all in confusion.

Joe only raised an eyebrow and slid a handful of files across the workstation. “Over two dozen missing persons cases solved overnight. Major prostitution ring. No leads on who rescued them.”

Barry frowned. “That definitely wasn’t me.”

“I heard some chatter about a woman claiming two men saved her from a warehouse. She said one of them could create ‘explosions from his hands’,” Iris said as she furiously scribbled notes on her ten-cent pad.

“Vigilantes?” Joe didn’t looked too pleased.

“Sounds like they might be metas, too,” Barry said. “It would be cool to finally meet another meta who isn’t out to kill me.” And he definitely sounded far too interested for Cisco’s liking.

Cisco ducked his head and fired off a text. _We need to do a better job covering our tracks next time_.

“I’ll follow up and see if I can find out more about these guys.” The clacking of Iris’s heels followed her all the way out of the Cortex.

Crap. Cisco knew there was no deterring that woman once she caught whiff of a story.

His phone buzzed. _Why? What happened?_ Hartley asked.

He’d been typing out a rapid reply when Barry waved an arm in front of his face. “Everything okay, Cisco?”

Cisco startled and locked his phone. Not really. He’d been running on fumes since the nightmares had kept him up all night again, and he’d been working overtime to find this Brzezinski girl. Turned out the ring he and Hartley had taken down was just one cell of an enormous operation. It wasn’t like he could tell the rest of the team any of that though.

“Yeah...what were you saying?” Cisco tried for casual, but Joe was a hell of a detective and Cait could usually sense something was wrong with him from a mile away.

And Barry looked concerned now. Great. “Just wondering if you had any ideas on how we could catch this guy,” Barry said.

“Oh. Uh…” _Think_. “I can setup an alert on the metahuman activity app. See if they turn up soon.” He knew full well that ‘they’ wouldn’t turn up, but it was definitely a believable...ish cover as long as there wasn’t anything else tying them to the scene…

Joe had eventually gone back to the precinct, which just left Cait and Barry at the lab. Cisco wanted nothing more than to lay in his own bed for an hour or possibly ten, and maybe work on the case with Hartley, but he also didn’t want to arouse the others’ suspicions. Not that they suspected him of anything yet, but they would eventually if he didn’t watch himself.

Cait muttered to herself and tinkered with vials of truly noxious-looking blue liquid, hardly paying any attention to Barry, who was flitting around her workroom with nervous energy. Didn’t he have anything better to do? A day job to be at?

On his end, Cisco messed with the goggles, tightening the screws on the hinges, untightening them, pulling disinterestedly at some of the wires that were sticking out of the lenses, wincing when they gave his fingers a light shock.

 _Got a lead on our 207. How to proceed?_ Hartley wrote, pulling Cisco out of his mindless puttering.

 _207?_ He definitely had no idea what Hartley was talking about.

The response came a few seconds later. _Kidnapping code. Brzezinski. I heard it on a TV show once..._

Cisco wanted to facepalm, but settled for sending back a “ _..._ ” followed by an eye-roll emoji, and got a middle finger in return.

He snorted and allowed himself a giggle.

“Whatcha laughing at?” Barry asked from somewhere over his shoulder.

And Cisco smashed his knee cap on the underside of his desk in shock. That was _definitely_ going to bruise in the morning.

“Sorry,” Barry said sheepishly, then with a bit more cheer, “so...what was so funny?”

“Dank memes. Dumb gifs,” Cisco shrugged, rubbing at his knee. “You know, Cait loves sending that crap to me during work hours.” His lying could use a bit of work. Maybe he could get Hartley to give him some lessons?

“Oh. Hey!” Barry perked up. “Wanna grab a drink tonight? Caitlin said she’s in.”

Cisco wasn’t sure what Barry was playing at. If Cisco could remember the fractured timeline, then there was no way Barry couldn’t either. Was he just going to pretend like sixteen years of an alternate timeline hadn’t existed? That was all well and good, though, because Cisco had absolutely no idea what he would even say to Barry. _I’m glad you were able to save your mom, but my life kind of really sucked and I can remember every second of it_? Definitely not.

But the bottom line was that Barry had gone and changed nearly two decades of history without consulting anyone first. The timeline didn’t affect only Barry -- it affected the entire world. Seven billion individuals whose free will had been taken away from them.

His phone buzzed again and he glanced down. _How to proceed???_

 _My place at 6_ , Cisco fired back before turning back to Barry.

“Not tonight, man. I’ve got...stuff to do.” He _really_ needed to come up with better excuses, although that was so vague it was true on a technicality, so...there.

“Oh…” Barry’s smiled faded a little. Wonderful. Now Cisco could add ‘kicking a puppy’ to his list of transgressions, too. “Maybe next time, then?” Barry asked hopefully. “It feels like the three of us haven’t had a night out in ages.”

Cisco sighed. “Sure thing, dude.” He just wished things didn’t have to be so complicated. Did Barry even realize why his actions were so problematic? It definitely wasn’t a conversation Cisco was keen on having anytime soon. Why did time travel have to be so complicated?

Five o’clock rolled around and Cisco was grateful to finally be out of STAR. When there were no rogue metas to track down, the place could be distressingly slow, especially since Cisco had been eager to get a move on with his and Hartley’s investigation.

*

“I don’t get why you don’t just tell them it was you,” Hartley said from Cisco’s desk. Apparently, men he wasn’t friends with co-opting his personal workspace was a theme in his life.

“Look, how many times do I have to say it?” Cisco popped the caps off a couple of beer bottles and passed one to Hartley. “I’m not even sure I’m comfortable with this whole…” he waved his arm at the desk and the half-dozen files spread out over it, and some of the beer sloshed onto the carpet, “...whatever. Why make it into some big thing?”

Hartley held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. It’s your call.”

“Besides, I’m just a guy…”

“A guy with _superpowers_ ,” Hartley corrected. He took a swig of his beer and grimaced.

“Hey, don’t knock my beer. And I’ve got superpowers that I don’t even know how to use properly,” Cisco pointed out as he pulled up another chair and plopped down beside Hartley. “If we’re going out in the field again, I need to get a handle on how to actually use these powers.”

“And you will,” Hartley said, then grimaced again when he took another sip. “Do you have any wine?”

Cisco rolled his eyes, but stood up and went to get a glass. Sue him for being a good host. “This is Cait’s favorite bottle of red, so don’t tell her you drank from it unless you wanna die.” She wouldn’t _actually_ kill Hartley...hopefully, but Cisco felt it was only fair warning.

“Right. Thanks. You’ll get a handle on your powers, though, and it’s not going to happen overnight,” Hartley said, oddly serious.

Cisco went with the obvious, because it wasn’t like he’d just found out he was a meta. “I’ve had these powers for over a year.”

Hartley raised an eyebrow. “And how many times have you actually tried to use them?”

Well… “Valid,” Cisco shrugged. But he still wasn’t sure how he was going to overcome this block. It was getting dangerous at this point. Sure, in moments of extreme peril, he’d somehow managed to conjure miracles out of thin air, but he couldn’t keep relying on that.

“I can help,” Hartley said earnestly. “With the sonic blasts, at least. There’s so much you could do with your powers. I mean, hell, you could even shear someone’s organs apart from the inside if you hit the right frequency.”

Cisco froze.

“Not that you should do that,” Hartley amended hastily.

Right.

Cisco slammed his bottle down, maybe a bit harder than was strictly necessary, and stood up. “I’m sure you’d know _all_ about that.”

He’d allowed himself to think that this could work. That Hartley had truly turned over a new leaf and reformed. God knows Cisco had plenty to atone for as well -- the cold gun, Golden Glider, Barry’s identity -- but he’d never gone out with the _intent_ to kill someone before. It was like he’d been riding a rickety old train with Hartley, convinced that it wasn’t going to fall apart at the seams. They’d even made it a couple of miles without incident. And then the wheels went off the rails, leaving fiery wreckage in their wake and reminding Cisco why this was such a bad idea in the first place.

“Whoa, did I do something wrong?” Hartley asked quizzically.

“Don’t worry about it.” Cisco made a show of fussing around with the tools at his workstation, but he wasn’t sure who he was trying to kid, Hartley would easily be able to tell he wasn’t actually doing anything.

He fiddled with the soldering iron, scowled at the brown smudges on the tip (which looked suspiciously like that brownie he’d been eating while jamming out to _Beyoncé_ two nights ago), and retreated to the kitchen for a wet cloth when the silence became too awkward.

“Hey, wait!” Hartley followed right on his heels. “Is it something I said?” He spun Cisco around to face him, and Cisco let him.

“It’s....complicated,” he said.

Hartley’s eyebrows nearly reached his hairline. “More complicated than calculating the frequency and intensity of a sound wave to destroy an interdimensional enforcer of the Speed Force?”

Cisco snorted. What a mouthful. “I don’t know…” he sighed.

“Try me.” Hartley pulled over one of the folding chairs from the dining room. “Whatever it is that’s eating at you, I’m all ears.”

“Alright, fine.” If Hartley really wanted to hear this, then Cisco would hash out all the details. He owed an explanation to him, in any case. He’d been lukewarm towards Hartley for months now, which Hartley probably thought was because of their working relationship back at STAR, and not...what had come after.

“It’s about the old timeline. The one before the Time Wraith attacked Barry.”

“I don’t remember any of it…” Hartley said quietly, and tapped at his temple. “I tried, but there’s nothing here.”

“You wouldn’t. I’m the only one who can, ‘cause of the vibes.” Cisco shrugged. “Trust me, you don’t wanna see any part of these old timelines.” Memories of a vibrating hand through his heart came unbidden, but he did his best to tell them to bugger off.

Hartley studied him for a moment before asking, “and what happened in the old timeline?”

“You did. You tried to kill Barry. Shear his organs apart, all that fun stuff. Probably had plans to kill the rest of us, too,” Cisco said glumly, then more flippantly, “oh yeah: and you double-crossed me and kicked the shit out of me when we tried to find Ronnie.”

“And you think I’m still harboring those feelings.” It wasn’t a question, so Cisco didn’t answer. That was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it?

“I helped you all with the Time Wraith,” Hartley pointed out. “And the Reverse Flash.”

“I know that. And it’s appreciated.” If sighing was an official sport, Cisco was sure he’d have gotten the gold medal three times over.

Hartley frowned, only a minute downtick of his dimples that Cisco nevertheless caught. “Then, do you really think I’d try to hurt you like that now?”

“I don’t know!” Cisco practically whined, pulling at tufts of his hair in frustration. “But you did at some point, and it wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment decision. It was premeditated, dude, even before Barry changed the timeline. You let yourself be captured so you could steal Barry’s frequency data. You blew up the pipeline and hurt me. You planned to commit _first-degree murder_.” At some point, Cisco had begun shouting, but he didn’t care. This was cathartic and long, long overdue. “Hell, the only reason you didn’t rot in Iron Heights was because Thawne managed to stop you.”

Cisco noticed that Hartley was avoiding eye contact now, staring at his shoes, fidgeting in his seat.

Hartley swallowed. “I’m trying my best…” he said, so quietly that Cisco had to strain to hear him. “I was a different person back then. Angrier. As if my parents weren’t bad enough, Wells -- Eobard, whatever -- kicked me to the curb. He was the only father figure I ever truly liked, did you know that?”

“Hartley…” Cisco swallowed down _of course I know_ and _probably better than you_ and let Hartley continue.

“I was so resentful for so long, but the day the Time Wraith attacked, I got a second chance. Working with you all...was something special. It made me feel alive again.” He gave Cisco a genuine grin. It was small, but with the dimples on full display, Cisco could tell that he meant it.  “And I know I have a lot to make up for, but I’m _trying_. If you’re not even going to give me a chance to prove that I’ve changed, then where does that leave us now?”

“I...no, you’re right. That’s not fair of me, it’s just...I still get vibes of that day. It’s usually little things, like, okay, last month when you were helping with the pulse fork, we accidentally brushed shoulders and…” Cisco shrugged helplessly.

“I didn’t know…” Hartley’s tone was tinged with regret as he glanced quickly at the entrance to Cisco’s apartment. “Do you want me to…?”

“No,” Cisco said firmly. “It’s getting better. And this -- talking with you -- it helped. At least now I know.”

Hartley stood up slowly, gingerly, and put his hands on Cisco’s shoulders. And there was that determination again. “Let me help. I can help you figure out these powers.”

“How? There’s kinda no precedent for me, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Cisco laughed, and if he felt a lot lighter than he had a few minutes ago, well, he wasn’t questioning it. “It’s not like tech that we can tinker with until it works.”

“So we’ll start from the beginning, then. Think of it as a challenge.”

Hartley was all over-eager now, and when Cisco thought about it, he didn’t have much to lose. Now that he knew he wasn’t going to get stabbed in the back again -- probably -- he was a lot less hesitant.

“Sure, let’s do it.”

***

_Cisco saw the Lost One attend Caitlin and Ronnie’s funeral. The Lost One hadn’t known them, but he’d seen their faces on the news and been drawn to them._

_Atlantic Airlines flight 746 crashed in the Pacific en route to Central City from Tahiti. There were no survivors._

_Of course, from his perspective in the present, Cisco could see this for what it really was: the timeline correcting itself. Nora and Henry Allen had lived, but blood still had to be spilt. The Lost One hadn’t known that, though. It had just been another nightmare to add fuel to the fire._

***

“So, how’s this gonna work?” Cisco asked, half-distracted by the emoji war he was currently having with Iris.

“You said it feels like something’s blocking your connection, right?”

“Yeah.” Cisco fired off a string of *alien, star, star, rocket ship, explosion* that he was particularly proud of, then looked up at Hartley. “I mean, it can’t be that my powers only work when I’m terrified, right? Unless Reverb was hiding something, I don’t think he was going around terrorizing Earth-2 while scared all the time.”

Hartley looked like he was pondering the implications of Reverb’s not-inconsiderable powers. “So you think maybe it’s some sort of emotional barrier, then?”

Cisco’s phone buzzed.

_String Bean (Barry Allen) (now)_

_Your place or mine tomorrow?_

What? Cisco frowned. For what? He was about to ask when Hartley picked the phone out of his hands and slipped it into his pocket.

“Hey! What was that for?” he asked, indignant.

“You’re distracted. You can have it back when we’re done.”

Cisco affected a dull monotone. “Yes, mom.”

“So if this really is a mental block,” Hartley said, right back to business, “I think I can help.”

“Go on.” Without his phone, which had admittedly been distracting him (and which he wasn’t admitting aloud under penalty of death), Cisco didn’t have much choice but to focus on Hartley.

And Hartley slipped on the gauntlets, flexing his fingers and pulling the cuffs over his wrists.

“You’re not gonna blast me with those.”

Hartley rolled his eyes. “What do you know about hypnosis?”

“Like, mind control?” Cisco couldn’t help it if his tone was dubious; mind control was just slightly better than getting shredded to bits by sonic wave.

“Not quite. It’s more like a heightened state of awareness.” Hartley tinkered with one of the panels on the backside of the gauntlets. “My dad saw a hypnotherapist to help him quit smoking. I was curious, so I did my own research.”

“Did it work?”

“He hasn’t smoked a cigarette in ten years. Anyway, take a look at this.” He flipped open his laptop and pulled up a dense-looking study. “On the left is an EEG of someone under hypnosis. The right is a normal, waking state. Under hypnosis, the brain produces more--”

“--low frequency waves,” Cisco finished, catching where Hartley was going with this.

“Hypnosis lets you access the subconscious parts of your mind that may be playing a role in blocking off your powers. I’ve been experimenting, and I think I’ve figured out a frequency that can recreate the effects of hypnosis without all the hocus-pocus.” More hesitantly, he added, “it’s something we could try...if you want.”

It wasn’t until a few seconds later that Cisco answered. “...okay. I trust you.” He was surprised to find that he meant it.

“Right.” Hartley ducked his head, and Cisco was sure that was a blush again. “So, yeah. I’ll just...you should sit down, I guess. Make yourself comfortable.”

Cisco plopped himself down on his own couch, all the while hoping that Hartley playing therapist wasn’t going to be as weird as it sounded. “This isn’t gonna hurt, is it?”

“I don’t know.” Hartley pulled over a chair and positioned himself directly in front of Cisco. “I’ve never actually done this before.”

“What?!”

“Heh. Couldn’t resist, sorry.” It figured.

“I want a refund.”

“But I’m doing this pro bono,” Hartley pointed out. “Get comfortable. You’re tense right now.”

Cisco scoffed. “You’re _making_ me uncomfortable, man, all up in my personal space like that.” He was only half joking. Normally, Cisco didn’t have any problem with getting all close and personal with people he considered his friends, but when they were voluntarily rooting around his mind? Another case entirely.

“Sorry,” Hartley muttered, quickly pushed his seat back, and put enough distance between them that Cisco suddenly felt like a middle schooler waiting for his first kiss at the end-of-year dance.

“I didn’t mean you had to put a mile between us.” Cisco pulled his legs up and over the side of the couch, draping them over the armrest like he always did when brainstorming new tech. Hartley _did_ say to get comfortable. “Just...I don’t know. You don’t have to be on top of me like that.” Their knees had been touching, like Cisco had his own middling guardian angel with no concept of personal space. [2]

When Hartley was finally at a normal-ish distance from him, Cisco asked, “you’re not gonna make me cluck like a chicken, right?”

“Do you want me to?” Hartley smirked, cryptic as all hell.

Cisco figured it was even odds Hartley was bluffing or actually capable of doing it, and nope. He wasn’t going to encourage him any further, deflecting with a “so, how’s this gonna work?” that still had Hartley looking like he won that little exchange. Ugh.

It took a moment before the smirk slid off Hartley’s face, but he gradually eased into something more serious. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yeah,” Cisco said. “Did you know me and Cait got this couch on--”

He was about to relay the crazy, downtown Craigslist adventure he’d dragged Cait on, but was was interrupted by a low-pitched whining. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the green hues of the gauntlets powering up.

The effect was instantaneous.

Cisco felt the bottom drop out from beneath his feet. Felt strangely disconnected. Sluggish and heavy all at once, like he’d been given a dozen back massages and was currently melting into the couch. It was oddly relaxing, if mildly disconcerting.

“Tell me how you feel,” Hartley said eventually, voice low and gentle, cutting easily through the haze.

“Good. Really good.” Cisco exhaled, and literally felt the tension draining out of his body. “Relaxed, maybe a little loopy, but still...”

“...aware?”

“Mmm...yeah.” Despite how heavy his body felt, Cisco was hyper aware of Hartley’s voice.

“Good. Before we get started, I’m going to guide you deeper, okay?” He sounded much more confident than a guy who may or may not have done this before, Cisco thought to himself, but nodded slowly anyway.

He swiveled his head to the side, noticing that Hartley was leaned all the way forward in his seat, back hunched, elbows on his knees, neck craned up to look Cisco in the eyes.

“Take a deep breath in,” Hartley said, patient, still in that gentle and silky timbre. “Good. And as you exhale, you can feel yourself going ten times deeper. You can let your eyes close a little, or they can still stay open, but the point is you can let them go nice and heavy.”

Cisco’s eyes slid to half-mast.

“As you inhale again, nice and slow--”

Inhale.

“--you can let that relaxation wash over your body from head to toe, filling you up--”

Cisco shivered.

“--and as you exhale, you can feel yourself going twenty times deeper.”

Exhale.

“Excellent. Forty times deeper,” Hartley said on the next exhale.

Inhale. Exhale.

“Sixty times deeper.”

Inhale. Exhale.

“One hundred times deeper.”

Cisco was positive he could just drift in bliss like this forever. Well, maybe not _forever_ forever -- he still wanted to know how _Voltron_ ended -- but long enough to drown away all his worries.

“How do you feel?”

“Like a puddle of goo,” Cisco said honestly, and heard Hartley chuckle. “Hey, you’d be saying the same thing if you were feeling what I’m feeling here.” There was no heat behind it though, and even if Cisco could manage to scrounge up what little irritation he could muster, he was sure the effect would’ve been ruined by how utterly content he sounded right now.

“Maybe, but I can’t hear low frequencies after the accident. And anyway, this is about you.”

When Cisco laughed, even the rumble of his vocal chords pushed him down further. “Shucks, you know how to make a guy feel wanted.” He placed a hand over his heart in faux flattery.

“I wonder,” Hartley said, somehow managing to sound bored and still speak with that smooth inflection (it was a real talent, Cisco had to acknowledge), “if you’d be able to survive if I cut off your capacity for sarcasm.”

“I don’t know, you’ll have to ask the kettle.”

Hartley smiled, then cleared his throat. “So, I want you to know: I can’t make you do anything you’re truly uncomfortable with. And if this conversation goes somewhere you don’t like, all you have to do is say the word and we’ll stop.”

It took a moment for Cisco to murmur his assent, but he did, blinking heavily and sighing contently.

The low whining grew even louder as the light of the other gauntlet activating washed over Cisco’s face in the dim ambience of his apartment. It was as if someone had reached directly into each and every one of his muscles and eased all the knots and tension and stress from them.

“Guh.” He had to fight to keep any _really_ embarrassing noises from escaping.

“Still okay?”

Well, that was a silly question. “More than.”

“Good. I want you to start by imagining yourself at the top of a waterfall. Feel the droplets against your face, the gentle breeze on your skin. Just breathe. Inhale and exhale.”

Cisco wiped the back of a hand across his forehead and was shocked to feel the moisture there. Whoa. Was that real? He lapped up the thin sheen of water with his tongue. It even _tasted_ real.

“Remember, it’s just us here. You’re safe.” If it was possible, Hartley’s voice was even more soothing now, echoing all around him like a warm blanket. “Tell me what you see.”

“It’s...it’s incredible.” Beneath his feet, torrents of crystal clear water began to froth and bubble as they slipped over the edge. “It’s like a Nat Geo spread come to life. It’s gotta be at least a couple thousand feet deep.” The chasm in front of him extended infinitely down into the Earth. There was lush greenery around the rim, mist flowing upwards along the air currents, but when he looked down, all he saw was darkness. Some part of him should probably have been frightened, but he remembered he was safe here, and settled for staring curiously into the abyss instead.

“I’m going to count backwards from ten, and as I do this, you’ll find yourself starting to drift downwards.” With the glasses and his carefully measured tones, Hartley could probably pass for an actual hypnotherapist, or at least what Cisco had imagined them to look like, being that he’d never actually met one before.

 _Ten_.

“Take as long as you need, drifting, falling, floating. Feel the vibrations of the waterfall against your back. Feel yourself relaxing even more the further you descend. Can you feel the rays of sunlight bearing down on you?”

“‘S nice,” Cisco muttered. And it _was_ nice, that warm fuzzy feeling expanding outwards from the center of his chest.

_Nine._

“As you begin to drift further down, notice the light fading around you.” Cisco frowned, which Hartley must have noticed, because in the next second, he added, “but it’s okay. Remember, you’re safe here. No worries. No fears.” And because Hartley said it, it must’ve been true.

“Let all the sounds around you relax you and send you down deeper, and deeper, and deeper.”

He could feel the air currents wafting around his body. The rushing water faded to the background, helping him to focus; the rising mist settled on his body, each individual drop eating away at the tension he hadn’t even known had existed inside him until now; and Hartley’s voice was like a warm balm that soothed his soul on a cold, winter day.

 _Eight_.

Down here, Cisco noticed the verdant shrubs and ferns that had once lined the bluffs of the crevasse had given way to imposing granite slabs. It was eerie in a beautiful way.

“Completely relaxed.” Cisco could feel Hartley’s hand on his wrist, giving an experimental wiggle as Cisco’s arm oscillated like a limp noodle. Weird. He was very aware of what Hartley was doing, but in this space -- in the chasm -- Cisco was completely alone. It was like existing in two planes at once. “Good. You’re doing great, Cisco. As you exhale,” Hartley took his other arm and wiggled it, too, “let your mind clear, empty of all thoughts.”

The ascending draught was like a summer breeze on a beach. Grains of sand scattered in the wind, and Cisco’s brain quieted. The silence was oddly liberating, all the self-doubt, the insecurities, the fears, gone in the blink of an eye.

 _Seven_.

“I want you to think of that night in the warehouse. Picture it in your mind as you continue to drift.”

“Whoa.” Cisco looked down the chasm, and the granite transformed into the snarled and morphed plywood from earlier in the week. The smell of mildew and wood rot hit his nose as he glided slowly down the hallway. Below him, he was surprised to still see the waterfall running parallel, the churning whitewater slowing to a more moderate stream.

“What do you see?” Hartley’s voice was coaxing, fluid and even like the water beneath Cisco.

“It’s dark. I can barely see anything, but there’s…” he squinted, “there’s something shiny in front of me. It’s...oh.” The lightbulb overhead spread its light downward, and it glinted off a spindly leg. “It’s the minion.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Is it hard to see why?” Arguing (er, ‘arguing’) when he was this relaxed was strange, Cisco thought. His voice projected like a stone in molasses, Hartley’s even tone a counterpoint to Cisco’s sluggish one.

 _“Focus_ ,” Hartley chastised.

Cisco nearly spluttered, because Hartley had definitely played a role in goading him on, but then Hartley was hushing him, a quiet sibilant that effectively scattered Cisco’s will to argue, and he wasn’t sure he liked Hartley having the upper hand in an argument like this. He was sure he could put together a decent argument if he’d _really_ wanted to, it was just easier to _not_.

Instead, he asked, “Where’s it taking me?”

“Let him guide you. Keep drifting forward and downward, nice and easy.” Hartley dropped back into what Cisco decided to call his compelling voice. It should have been scary how much sway Hartley’s words had over him, but it just wasn’t.

 _Six_.

Cisco wandered aimlessly, somehow relaxing even more the further forward he strayed. Time was endless here. Without Hartley’s guiding voice, the hall felt empty, not quite melancholic, but a meditative silence.

He cleared his throat to ask where Hartley had gone when the man in question cut in. “Bring yourself back to the moment you saved me. Remember, every breath you take allows you to relax. The more you relax, the easier it is to focus.”

Cisco was running now. The slow trickle beneath him returned to a raging torrent.

“Describe what’s happening.”

“I’m sprinting.” He noticed the slight uptick in his heartbeat. “Following the minion to try and find you.”

“And what do you feel?”

“My legs burning…”

Cisco swore that Hartley’s sigh echoed all the way up and down the hallway and back up to the top of the chasm. “Focus. Feel the blood pumping through your veins, feel the air cooling your throat, and tell me what you _really_ feel.”

“I…” Cisco trailed off. He was so laser-focused on Hartley’s commands that he initially couldn’t feel the tingling in his fingertips that was spreading up the length of the arms, but when he _did_ feel it, concentrating on it, it was like an entire galaxy had opened up to him, or -- _no_. The entire cosmos. “Oh my god,” he whispered. “It’s incredible...I can feel it all.”

The thrumming in his veins was back -- the one that told Cisco all the vibrational energy in the universe was at his disposal. Whatever mental state Hartley had placed him in, though, had intensified the feeling about a hundredfold. He could see constellations. He could see nebulas. He could feel every individual water molecule vibrating with energy, right down to the very quarks and leptons that were drawn to each other like moths to a flame. He could feel the ripples in space every time the minion arched its legs forward and the metal segments slid over each other and back.

 _Five_.

“You’ve found me, now. Remember what it felt like when you released the pulse wave. Feel the energy gather at your fingertips.”

This was the moment of truth. If he could tap into the power he had felt that night, he’d be flying high and well over the mental block.

“Don’t forget. You’re safe here.” There was a reassuring air in Hartley’s voice. “Here, it’s just the two of us. No criminals. No metas. Just us.”

And it was easy. The pulse rippled through the warehouse, like an extension of his own self. From the sharp corners of the storage crates to the way the gauntlets tugged over Hartley’s fingers, Cisco felt it all. Even without his sight, he was certain in that moment that he could navigate the entire complex with his hands behind his back.

“Wow,” Hartley said, just the slightest bit of excitement in his voice.

 _Wow_ was right. Cisco let the adrenaline peter out. Beneath his feet, the water still ran along the floor down the chasm, even beyond the warehouse.

“Can you do it again?”

Cisco held his hands out, but when he reached inside himself for the well of power that had been there just moments prior, he knew without a doubt that it was gone. “It’s -- dammit! I can’t!”

“Calm down,” Hartley said evenly. He launched into a rapid string of low, whispered words that immediately caused Cisco to relax again. The words slipped and slid over Cisco’s mind, like a feather dancing over his brain, in one ear and out the other as he felt his muscles turn to putty again. When Cisco was finally back to his pre-warehouse state, Hartley continued. “No one said this was going to be easy. And there’s still much more to go.”

Cisco peered down the rest of the chasm. The wooden walls of the warehouse inexplicably gave way to polished stone blocks that framed a high-vaulted hallway.

 _Four_.

Hartley talked him easily down the hall, and Cisco was convinced his voice was the voice of angels. Seriously. How? If he could bottle it up, he might be able to cure cancer, or at the very least stop world hunger.

“Tell me what you see,” Hartley asked again. “Be my eyes.”

And Cisco emerged from that wonderful state of half-sleep, completely alert. “Um, we might have a problem.”

“What is it?”

“An enormous door like, fifty feet high. Locked, too, from the looks of it.” Though ‘locked’ was an understatement, given the thick chains wrapped around the handles. Overkill, if you asked Cisco, but he was acutely aware of the symbolism. An experimental push, then a shove, then the entire weight of his body against it, but the door didn’t budge an inch. “Figures.”

“Hmm,” Hartley hummed, and even that had a powerful soothing effect on Cisco. He could feel the spark of frustration fade as quickly as it had arrived.

 _Three_.

“We’re in the deepest recesses of your mind now, Cisco. You’ve created this obstacle, and you can take it down, too.”

Could he, though? He gave another slight push, but still the give was nonexistent.

“You want to better yourself, remember? You want to face your fears. Let it wash over you now. All the fear and insecurity and doubt.”

Cisco frowned. He was beginning to feel clammy and cold, a shiver running down the length of his spine.

“It’s okay. Let it surround you. You’re so much stronger than the fear that’s holding you back, and I know you can beat this.” Hartley said it with such conviction that Cisco couldn’t help but believe him.

He had come too far now to just turn back.

_Two._

“Take as long as you need to prepare.”

It was easy to compose himself when Hartley kept up a steady stream of encouragement in Cisco’s ears. The words slipped past conscious awareness, past thinking and hearing and into knowing.

Cisco centered himself. The first inhale passed first his solar plexus, then down deep in his abdomen, slowly up his throat and back out his mouth. Even without Hartley speaking, Cisco could feel himself relaxing with every exhale.

Hartley’s interjection was a quiet little note that blended seamlessly with the sound of rushing water below. “Are you ready?”

 _One_.

Cisco took a step forward and two things happened simultaneously: the chains binding the doors vanished, and the arched doors slowly creaked open. Inviting him into the darkness. And it wasn’t so much a darkness as it was an unnatural blackness. Opaque and impenetrable.

He took another step, and then another, each one clacking loudly over stone, each one sloshing water this way and that.

One more step. Over the threshold.

Cisco gasped.

It was like walking into a tornado, or...he remembered trying to rip Barry out of the Speed Force and the strange wind that throttled him at every turn. It was like that, except without the lightning. Not the Speed Force, then, but maybe whatever allowed Cisco to access his powers.

“Talk to me.” The statement cut through the howling wind, more demand than request.

Cisco squinched his eyes and held a hand up to block the wind from battering them. If this was his mind, shouldn’t he be able to just...quell this storm? He closed his eyes and willed it all away, but the particularly vicious gust of wind that blasted his face told him it hadn’t worked. Right. Too easy, then.

Instead, he focused his energies on what he could see in front of him. “Wait...there’s someone there in the distance.” Cisco forced himself to advance, bit by bit. Every time he got a good look at the figure, the screeching gale forced him to look away.

“Steady. Take as long as you need.”

Cisco hobbled along, all the while conscious that having Hartley in his ear like this was kind of exactly like what he did for Barry every single day sans hypnosis and trippy mind journeys. And he and Hartley definitely weren’t a _bad_ pair (somehow, against all odds…).

Progress was slow. There definitely had to be something weird going on here, and by ‘weird’ he meant _weirder_ than fighting his way through a damn tornado _in his head_. Because every five steps he took got him the equivalent of about a single normal step, which was fine at first -- it gave him more time to deal with his nerves -- but now, he just wanted to be there and done with it already.

“Everything okay?” If his ears didn’t deceive him, that was a hint of concern in Hartley’s voice.

“Yeah,” Cisco grunted. “Almost--” another grunt, “--there.” When he was out of here, his subconscious was getting a stern talking to.

One more step.

 _Finally_ , he heaved a sigh of relief, back hunched, hands on his thighs. It was strangely calm here, wherever here actually was. Apparently, Cisco was out of shape even in his dreamscape. He was about to ask if Hartley could trance him into having a six pack and actual biceps when the figure turned around, and--

“Francisco,” the figure smirked.

Cisco’s blood ran cold. The samurai bun, the eyeliner, even the leather jacket were all accurate down to the last detail. He took a step back, trembling when the now frigid water slopped around in his shoes.

“I told you we could be gods together,” Reverb simpered. “And still, you refuse me.”

“I already told you, I’m not letting you Vader me.” When he turned around, his escape route was gone. It was just him and Reverb in the eye of the storm, the horizon expanding infinitely in every direction, every sound echoed and magnified by the damp air.

 _“Who’re you talking to?”_ Hartley asked.

Reverb held a hand out. A beckoning. “No. No way in _hell_.” Cisco threw out a hand and prayed the power would somehow come back to him, though he wasn’t sure why he even bothered when it had never worked for him before.

“Tsk tsk tsk.” Reverb looked even smugger than Hartley at his best. “Allow me.” He mimicked Cisco’s gesture, and Cisco scarcely had a second to breathe before the force of the blast hit him like a freight train, the wind was completely ripped from his lungs.

He tumbled, coughed, sputtered, and came to a stop on his back. The only upside was that none of this would leave a mark.

 _“Cisco! What the hell is happening?”_ Hartley asked urgently.

“Reverb. He’s here.” Cisco braced his arms on the floor and raised his torso, then slid back frantically as Reverb advanced on him.

“You don’t even know what you’re capable of. Observe.” Between them stood all of Cisco’s friends. Caitlin, Barry, Iris, Joe. Hartley. Reverb splayed out a palm and Hartley screamed in agony, writhed on the ground as his entire body vibrated.

“Hartley! What are you doing to him?” Cisco forced himself to his feet.

“With just a thought, I can shatter his entire nervous system.” Reverb said it so dispassionately, as if he were discussing whether the forecasted rain would ruin his Sunday afternoon plans, that Cisco felt sick to his stomach.

Bereft of any other options, Cisco made the monumentally stupid decision of charging the homicidal meta in front of him. And okay, with the shoe on the other foot, he was beginning to see why Barry did some of the stupid shit he did. He didn’t think too hard about it, though, because if he did he’d probably lose his nerve and falter.

Someone was shouting wildly in his ear, but it didn’t matter now. All that did was closing the distance between him and Reverb and saving Hartley.

Reverb only watched with amusement. “You’re not even going to use your powers?” He drew his free arm back, but Cisco saw the incoming fist too late to avoid it.

_“Cisco. Tell me what’s happening.”_

Cisco stumbled and landed ass-first in the stagnant water, letting out a cry of frustration as he rolled over and pushed himself up. He could see the nasty shiner he’d just gotten reflected on the water below him, even though there was no pain. The adrenaline coursed through his veins, rang in his ears, throbbed in his chest.

“Let him go. Your beef’s with me.” The quiver in Cisco’s voice ruined his attempt to sound threatening.

Reverb shrugged. There was a deafening crack, which Cisco was sure would be ingrained in his memory for years to come, and Hartley was lying motionless, facedown in the water.

“Hartley!” Cisco shook his limp body. Blood trailed out of Hartley’s nose and mouth and dirtied the water all around him. “I’m sorry,” he said miserably, but there was no response, and he wasn’t expecting one.

_“Cisco. It’s not real.”_

Reverb clapped his hands together. “Next!” he said with twisted cheer, sidestepped down the line in front of Caitlin, and held a hand out in much the same way as he’d done with Hartley.

The worst part, though, was when Cait turned to Cisco and pleaded, “don’t do this to me” with tears in her eyes.

Cisco opened his mouth to tell her that it wasn’t him, it was his megalomaniac doppelgänger, and Cisco would never, ever hurt her like this. Then, he caught himself. What difference would it make? With a flick of his wrist, he could end a life. He was one bad day away from becoming the monster in front of him. Was that what had happened to Reverb?

_CRACK._

Caitlin fell before Cisco could even reassure her. He wasn’t sure which was louder: the shattering of her nervous system or the bloodcurdling scream he himself let loose.

 _CRACK_.

One by one, he watched his friends fall to a man who shared his face. His _powers_.

 _CRACK_.

Barry was next. Unlike Caitlin, he didn’t say a word, just stared at Cisco with betrayal and hurt burning in his eyes.

 _CRACK_.

Eventually, when Cisco’s voice became too hoarse to yell anymore, he settled for sobbing silently on all fours, still next to Caitlin’s body.

“Last chance, Vibe.” Reverb sneered at the use of Cisco’s codename. “You could still join me. We could rule the universe together. We could rule _universes_ together.”

_“CISCO!”_

The disembodied voice was so thunderous Cisco flinched. “Hartley?”

_“Yeah. I’m still here with you. What happened?”_

“Reverb. He -- he killed you, Hartley. _I_ killed you. All of you, Cait and Iris and Joe, too.” Cisco tried to stay calm, but he knew from the presto rhythm his heart was beating out that he was starting to hyperventilate again.

_“Listen, none of that was real. It wasn’t you. You’re not Reverb.”_

“It _feels_ real.”

 _“I promise you it’s not. How about this? Can you take a deep breath for me?”_ Hartley dropped back into that smooth and gentle voice that had gotten Cisco this far, and when Cisco inhaled and exhaled, the chaos and carnage around him momentarily faded. _“Good. Now I want you to think about the other night. Remember how we saved Charlotte and Claire and everyone else in that warehouse.”_

He remembered the grateful smile Claire gave him before he left her at CCPD. He remembered the headlines the next morning. And most of all, he remembered just how contrary he had been to Reverb in that moment.

 _“Remember that you saved Barry from Zoom in the Cortex. Every time Barry’s out there saving people, it’s_ your _tech and_ your _support he’s relying on.”_

“But...what if I mess up? I just saw how easily I could kill someone.” Was this how Barry felt every single day knowing that he could end his friends’ lives in the blink of an eye?

 _“You’ve been doing this far longer than I have, but do you know how I know that won’t happen? Because you’ve got friends standing behind you._ True _friends. It’s what I didn’t have when I needed them most, and being around all of you at STAR Labs now, it’s how I know you’re going to be fine.”_ Hartley spoke so eagerly that Cisco was rendered the kind of speechless he usually got whenever Barry gave them all a big, motivational speech before a tough mission. _“I’m here for you if you need me, and I know your little Flash team is, too.”_

Hartley plowed on, eloquent diction and locution on full display now. Cisco had always been just a smidge jealous of that diction, but just a smidge. _“You’ve spent three years proving to yourself that you’re one of the good guys. Don’t you think that’s long enough?”_

“I…thanks, man. I saw so caught up over not turning to the dark side after I met Reverb that I don’t think I ever stopped to consider that I was _never_ like him to begin with.” If even Hartley could see it, Cisco knew he was being really dense.

_“This right here is the mental block. What you just saw -- using your powers for evil -- that’s the fear that’s holding you back.”_

“I know that now, and I’m ready to face him again.”

 _“Good, because I’m not sure I can actually take you out of this trance until you beat this thing,”_ Hartley said sheepishly. _“I tried back when you were fighting Reverb, but it didn’t work.”_

“On it, dude.” The scene transformed around him and he was standing in front of Reverb once more.

There was a certain peacefulness that came with knowing he was firmly in control again. Back with a vengeance, more like. He could feel the slow beat of Reverb’s heart and the contracting of his lungs as he exhaled evenly. And when the time came, he knew the power would flow to his fingertips as it had in the alley that night.

Reverb droned again, “what’ll it be, Vibe?”

“Never. Final answer.” Cisco threw out a hand and thought he even saw Reverb’s eyes widen before the blast hit him square in the chest. He expected Reverb to be tossed backward or maybe for him to pass out like the mobsters in the warehouse, but instead, he shattered into a thousand pieces, screaming all the while the fragments dissolved before Cisco’s eyes.

“Huh, go figure.”

_“Done?”_

“Yeah.” Cisco was all alone in his mindscape now, and he knew he was well and truly over his block when all he could think about was wave functions and quantum states and probability distributions, because even the vibrations of the water molecules and air particles around him were overwhelming. “Take me back, please.”

He felt a phantom hand on his shoulder and a snap of a finger in his ear and he was blinking his eyes -- his _real_ eyes -- open, staring up at his ceiling.

“Welcome back, Mr. Ramon.” Hartley gave him a warm grin from his perch on the chair. “Took you long en -- _oof._ ”

Cisco crashed into him and wrapped his arms tight. “Thanks, man.” He knew what closure felt like, and this was it.

“I, uh...I’m really not sure this is the best--”

“Oh, shut up. This is how normal humans show gratitude.” He pulled Hartley closer and winced when his ribs jostled from the pressure.

“What’s wrong?”

Cisco lifted up the hem of his shirt and found a mottled, splotchy bruise staring back at him. Well. That definitely hadn’t been there before. “Thoughts?” he asked Hartley, who only stared back at him with wide eyes. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“Your eye…it’s...”

“It’s what?” He didn’t wait for an answer before dashing to the bathroom, though. Was one of his eyes permanently deformed now? He played a video game once where the protagonist was left with a heterochromia after an epic battle inside his own mind[3], and Cisco wasn’t saying that was what had happened here, but he’d been through enough weird crap in the past couple of hours that anything was possible.

When he flicked the lights on, though, he was slightly disappointed to find it was only a black and blue over the eye Reverb had socked in.

Which begged the next question: how in the hell?

Hartley’s head poked in from the doorway. “Is it from your fight with Reverb?”

“Yeah. He got a couple of lucky shots in,” Cisco said like he wasn’t fighting for his life a few minutes ago. Hey, his mind had just been fucked with seven ways from Saturday; he wanted nothing more than to pass out for the rest of the weekend.

Hartley’s arched eyebrows spoke a language all their own. It was like sarcasm and smugness had a bastard child and decided to plaster it to Hartley’s face, and Cisco couldn’t help giggling a little when the thought occurred to him.

“So happy I can amuse you,” Hartley said, dry.

“Really, I’m fine. It’s just a flesh wound.”

Hartley snorted. “Don’t insult the Black Knight like that.”

Cisco pored over his brain for a quick quip, but all that came to him was _need sleep_ and _about to collapse_ before he gave up and dragged his feet to the couch, and it wasn’t so much dragging as controlled stumbling.

“Seriously, though,” Hartley trailed after him, “did it work? Can you do the thing now?”

“Oh! I forgot!” Cisco said with excitement, then promptly fell over. “Ow.”

Hartley draped one of Cisco’s arms over his shoulders and hauled him up like a ragdoll. “Well? Give it a try.” He sounded impatient, moreso the excited puppy variety and not the patented Hartley-Rathaway-has-no-time-for-your-shit kind though, so Cisco let it slide.

He held out an arm and meant for just a small blast to come out, except the sizeable wave knocked over his entire coffee table, and he was definitely going to have to replace that vase now, not to mention the migraine from how acutely he felt the porcelain shards fracture, but what the what?!

“Hah!” Cisco punched the air with his free hand, letting the rest of his body weight droop over Hartley. The elation wore off even quicker than it came, and Cisco whined, “sleep. Now.”

Hartley grumbled the rest of the way to the couch.

*

“For real?”

Cisco had been laid out for a grand total of...five seconds, maybe a generous six if time dilation was factored in (but he wasn’t so sure that counted, speedster he was not), when there was a hard knock on the door.

He groaned and closed his eyes again. Hartley could deal with it, or whoever was disturbing him at this ungodly hour on a Saturday night could piss off, whichever happened first. He wasn’t picky.

Somewhere in the distance, Cisco heard the sound of the front door unbolting.

“Uh…can I help you?” Hartley asked blankly.

“Hartley, right?” Cisco groaned again, internally this time. He knew that voice. “Is Cisco home?”

“Over here, Iris.” He hauled himself up and plopped down on his stomach. “Mind the mess.”

Iris gasped softly. “What happened to your face?” She slipped past Hartley and sidestepped the shards of glass from the coffee table to get a better look.

“Uh, tripped over a...thing,” Cisco said at the same time Hartley said, “science accident.”

Cisco blinked, stared at Hartley, and opened his mouth -- “Right, science mishap” -- just as Hartley nodded and said, “he tripped.” Wasn’t Hartley supposed to be the one with the silvertongue?

Iris rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say.” And Cisco was acutely aware that the only reason he was allowed to get away with the lie was because she was permitting it.

Cisco shrugged off any residual awkwardness and moved on before she could get too curious. “So, what brings you here?”

“This is what happens when you ignore my texts for an entire week,” Iris said breezily. “I brought reinforcements.” She gestured behind her, where Wally gave an enthusiastic wave and a smile and held up an enormous bag of Chinese takeout.

“Wally West.” He shook Hartley’s hand before slipping through, too. “We were supposed to hang out, build some cool stuff, remember?”

Cisco wracked his brain for the memory. Even though he’d seen Wally just over a week ago, it felt like a lifetime had passed since they’d all been celebrating in the West house and the timeline had been ripped out of their hands.

“Ahh, my bad. Let’s have a do over next week. We can even use my lab at STAR. It’s got those hydraulic motor prototypes with the digital displacement controls I was telling you about.

“Sweet!” Wally was like an overexcited puppy with the wide eyes and overeager grin.

And the look on Hartley’s face told Cisco he was probably debating how rude he could get away with being. Cisco was about to tell him to can it -- he really couldn’t deal with anything else today -- when his stomach gave a rather embarrassing grumble.

Wally’s smile flared into megawatt, and he moved into the kitchen to unload the fragrant bags of precious, life-sustaining sustenance.

Cisco had eaten dinner like a normal human before Hartley had come over, but it suddenly felt like he’d just sprinted a marathon. Apparently, spiritual journeys sapped more out of a guy than he’d’ve thought.

*

“So, what exactly is it you do, Hartley?” Iris asked politely.

“I'm the Chief Scientific Officer at Mercury Labs.” Hartley’s tone was even and measured, and maybe it was because Cisco had just been lulled into a preternatural sleep by that voice, but he’d never noticed how pleasant Hartley’s regular speaking voice was until now. He suspected it might’ve had something to do with the fact that Hartley wasn’t in the habit of hurling insults at him at every turn anymore, though.

Wally’s eyes popped in astonishment. “You didn’t tell me you knew the CSO of Mercury Labs,” he said, awe clearly coloring his tone.

Cisco shrugged and looked at Hartley. “I didn't know I did. Promotion?”

“Couple months ago, actually.” Hartley shrugged like it was nothing, instead of literally the advancement of a lifetime.

Cisco patted him lightly on the shoulder. “Congrats, dude. You’ve made it big.”

“Yes, well…” Hartley cleared his throat awkwardly as the conversation veered into science nerd territory.

The four of them shot the shit, talked about Iris’s ongoing story on the prostitution ring (Cisco did his best not to look unbelievably suspicious, but Iris was so worked up he wasn’t sure she even took notice of his reaction), Wally’s classes at City College (he even managed to rope a bewildered Hartley into giving him a personal tour of the Mercury facilities), and the inevitable fallout of life post-Zoom, which was necessarily met with a more plaintive mood.

“Hey,” Iris pulled him aside as she and Wally were getting ready to leave, “has Barry talked to you recently? I get the feeling that he’s hiding something from me, but everytime I ask, he closes himself off even more.”

Hoh boy. Technically, he knew exactly what Iris was talking about, but Barry had never confided in him about the paradox, and Cisco felt it wasn’t his place to divulge. Only, it kind of involved Iris, didn’t it? It kind of involved every living person on Earth-1, actually.

Dammit.

He absolutely hated how he was being thrown into the middle of this, and sure, no one was forcing him to lie to Iris, but he was sure Barry wouldn’t want her to find out like this, so he swallowed down the burgeoning feelings of deceit and put on his best concerned face.

“He hasn’t said anything to me. I’ll let you know if he does, though.” The lengths he went to for Barry...

“Oh.” Iris sounded disappointed. “I thought if there was anyone he’d confide in, it’d be you if not me.”

Cisco shrugged his shoulders and tried his hardest not to break and tell her everything. “Hasn’t confided much in me these days.”

He received one last, long look from her before she was swooping out the door with Wally and forcing Cisco to make himself more available. Cisco actually penciled her into his calendar -- his _empty_ calendar, because he never ever used calendars, physical _or_ digital -- with the label ‘IGNORE AT OWN PERIL.’

There was a smile that played at the corners of his lips, though. That girl was something special. He just hoped Barry had the good sense to hang onto her tight.

“Guess I should be heading out, too.” Hartley said softly, breaking the moment.

Cisco nodded and held the door open, unsure what to do next. Normally, he’d give Barry a clap on the shoulder and a three-pronged salute that was always returned, or Caitlin a tight hug that spoke to their years of friendship. But Cisco was finding there was no manual for how to treat your former arch-nemesis.

Hartley dug into his shirt pocket, pulling out a tiny wire with a spherical appendage at its end. “It’s a video of what happened tonight. Just in case you wanted to see for yourself…” he trailed off.

 _Trust me_ went unsaid, a whisper in the air between them, but Cisco heard it anyway.

“Thanks,” he nodded. “Hey, look. Why don’t you come over tomorrow and we can finally get cracking on those cases, now that I can, you know…” he mimed thrusting an arm out, palm first.

Hartley smiled, turned down the hall, and was out of sight before Cisco could register he was still standing in his doorway, all alone now.

That night, he fell asleep thinking of waterfalls and rushing water and that distinct, whispery diction.

*

Cisco woke up screaming. He had _felt_ relaxed after Hartley had sent him down the rabbit hole and into wonderland last night, but apparently, it had been short-lived. He’d slept for a few minutes at a time, startling awake gasping for breath, rinse and repeat.

He sighed. If it wasn’t his other powers acting up, it was the nightmares. At least he had nowhere else to be on a...crap, 7 A.M. on Sunday morning.

Grumbling, he flopped back down and tried as best he could to get a couple hours’ sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1Imagine Hartley now works at Mercury Labs.[return to text]
> 
> 2Castiel from Supernatural.[return to text]
> 
> 3A reference to the relatively obscure video game/JRPG _Tales of Graces_ , in which the protagonist actually takes on an evil entity in his own mind, resulting in one of his eyes changing colors to reflect the conflict.[return to text]


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the massive delay in getting this out. enjoy!

“I don’t see why I need a suit,” Cisco groused. Hartley was maneuvering around him with a tape measure like he was Cisco’s tailor or something, which, Cisco had never had a tailor in his life, and he wasn’t looking to start now. “It’s easier to blend in if I’m not dressed in leather and spandex.” Proud as he was of the Flash suit, there was absolutely no way Cisco was squeezing himself into something that tight.

“It’s for protection. Last time I checked, you weren’t bulletproof. Stop moving!” Hartley gave him a sharp jab in the side, flipping him around by the shoulders for the third time in as many minutes.

Cisco’s apartment looked like a bomb had hit it. There were scraps of paper everywhere. Abandoned schematics of the suit that Hartley had drawn up; printouts of journal papers for reference; childish doodles by Cisco, who had taken to caricaturing Hartley in the Piper’s cloak, then, when Hartley kept poking him and prodding him and taking his measurements, unflattering candids of Hartley’s irritated expressions. Mostly, they were just stick figures, but hey, they kept Cisco occupied.

They had three laptops open between the two of them, one running facial recognition software on the man they suspected had abducted the Brzezinski girl; another with the complete Adobe Creative Suite and CAD software (because apparently, Hartley, the rebel, was dead set on planning out every last detail of this suit; Cisco just built and tinkered until whatever he was creating just...worked); and a third streaming _The Force Awakens_ in 4K. As much as he preferred Star Trek, he had to admit the new movie was good.

A beep from one of the laptops, and Cisco was bounding off towards the desk. “Hey! I’m not done yet,” Hartley shouted after him.

Cisco ignored him. “No matches in any of the government databases. Bummer.”

“Try matching it to surveillance camera data. He can’t hide forever.”

“It’s been like, twenty years. This guy could be _anywhere_. We’d be dead before the search finished.” If Cisco could time travel, the only thing he’d abuse that power for was some processing units from the future.

“Hang on.” Hartley rummaged through his backpack, tossed Cisco a fancy-looking processor, and squealed when Cisco nearly dropped it. “Watch it! That thing was over four thousand dollars.”

“Don’t throw it at me, then.”

“Excuse me for forgetting how uncoordinated you are,” Hartley shot back, still recovering from Cisco’s near-drop. “Wire it up. It should speed things up significantly.”

“Wait.” Cisco’s eyes widened when he finally took a look at what he was actually holding. “A Tesla K100?! Where’d you get this? It’s not even out yet.”

“Mercury placed a huge order with NVIDIA.” Hartley shrugged. “They won’t miss one. Come on, set it up.”

Cisco rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “It’s, uh...just a minor roadblock.” Hartley raised an eyebrow. “The algorithm I wrote up isn’t exactly CUDA-compliant. Hey! Don’t give me that look. How was I supposed to know you had a four-thousand-dollar GPU sitting in your bag? Anything else you wanna share with the class? A cure for cancer? Maybe a fix for these nightmares I keep having?” Although...if Hartley _did_ have a fix for the nightmares, Cisco would take it in a heartbeat.

“Nightmares?”

Crap. He hadn’t meant to share that detail. “Nothing, just run of the mill vibe stuff. Thawne killing me, Vandal Savage destroying the city, all that jazz.” He tried to give his best too-cool-for-school face, but Hartley still looked concerned.

“Seriously, it’s not a big deal. Now are you going to help me with this algorithm, or what?”

Hartley sighed and pulled his own laptop over, swiveling the one blasting Han Solo’s pleas of _leave here with me_ and _come home_ in the process so it was facing them now.

Cisco wasn’t sure why he didn’t just tell Hartley about the nightmares, but how could Hartley understand? How could any of them? In fact, the only other person who probably would was Barry, and Cisco was in no hurry to open that can of worms.

*

“I don’t get why you need a wrist measurement,” Cisco said, chagrined.

“So the suit _fits_.” Hartley pulled at the sleeve of Cisco’s baggy tee and scowled.

“Oh, come on. That ringwraith thing you’ve got going on doesn’t fit.”

Hartley smirked, wicked. “I could make one of those for you. I just wasn’t aware you were interested.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Cisco warned, but there was no heat behind it. He was beginning to get the hang of bantering with Hartley. It wasn’t necessarily that Hartley wanted to rile him up -- although he definitely seemed to get off on getting under Cisco’s skin, and _only_ Cisco, since he was never like this with Cait or Ronnie. It was more just the ritual of the banter, and hey, Cisco wasn’t _not_ enjoying it.

Hartley shrugged. “Then it’s the suit. Stop complaining--”

The loud knock on the door startled the both of them.

“Uh...are you expecting anyone?” Hartley glanced hesitantly at the mess around the room. Right. Sensitive police documents they shouldn’t have were scattered all over the floor and couch, not to mention the appropriation of the government databases and, oh...every police surveillance cam they could get their hands on. All in all, probably at least a thousand felony counts of hacking.

“No…” Cisco said slowly.

Another knock.

_“Cisco? It’s Barry.”_

Shit. In a burst of movement, Cisco paused the algorithm and slammed the laptop shut. “Hide those papers,” he hissed at Hartley, then louder at the door, “Just a second!”

“Why don’t you just tell Barry? It would be useful to have him around,” Hartley whispered back, but nevertheless hastily gathered up handfuls of paper at a time.

“No! Just...no. Hurry up.” Cisco shoved the GPU back in the backpack and moved to help with tornado cleanup duty. “Not under there,” he hissed frantically, and pulled out the papers Hartley had slid haphazardly under the couch. “He’s a _CSI_ , he’s gonna notice!”

“Well, I’m open to suggestions,” Hartley said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“ _Cisco?_ ”

Cisco groaned. “Just...here,” he shoved a stack of papers at Hartley, who squawked in indignation. “Put these in my room. I’ll take care of the rest.”

He nearly smacked his own foot with how rapidly he whipped open the front door. “Hey! What’s up?” he asked breathlessly, sweaty and gasping for air.

“Hey!” Barry held up the _Wrath of Khan_ blu ray by way of explanation. He was close enough that Cisco could read the declaration of _‘the greatest Star Trek there will ever be’_ on the cover. Barry’s grin was ear-splitting.“You never answered my text, so I figured I’d drop by.”

“Oh…” He’d forgotten it was Sunday movie night with how hectic the past couple of days were. “Actually,” he glanced behind him, where Hartley was busy shuffling around massive towers of papers, “I'm kinda busy with...science stuff.”

Barry perked up and stood on the balls of his feet, peeking behind Cisco. “I love science stuff!”

“Uh! But…”

“Actually,” Hartley said, and Cisco jumped at how close his voice was, “you can't come inside right now. We're fumigating the apartment and there's...noxious fumes.”

“Very noxious,” Cisco nodded.

“Hartley?” Barry sounded mildly surprised. “I thought you guys were science’ing?”

Hartley looked like he had just swallowed a particularly disgusting bug. “‘Science’ing’?” Cisco could practically hear the air quotes.

“Uh, we were,” Cisco cut in, “but--”

“--but there were mice. Because his apartment was a mess.”

Cisco scowled.

“I liked the clutter…” Barry rubbed the back of his neck. “It added character.”

Cisco smirked at Hartley. _There_. But he had to get rid of Barry tonight, and he still wasn't sure what exactly Barry’s game was. Did he really not remember the paradox timeline? He _had_ to have those memories in tact. Whenever the timeline changed, Barry always retained memories of the old one, but if he didn't, Cisco definitely wasn't going to be the one to bring it up. And if he did remember? Well, this was certainly a fresh take on _fake it till you make it_ , then.

“But, uh, yeah. Tonight’s no good,” Cisco said.

“Oh...okay. I guess I’ll just…see you around, then?” Barry shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot, and Cisco shrugged.

“I’ll be in the lab tomorrow as usual.”

Barry visibly let out a sigh of relief, and Cisco tried not to think about it too hard because if he did, the word vomit would start coming up, probably followed by tears and possibly worse.

*

Cisco wasn’t entirely sure why he didn’t tell any of the others about his extracurricular activities, but if he had to guess, it was probably because he liked having this one little thing to himself. And it really was a little thing, tackling some small fry, non-suped up villains that still nonetheless needing taking care of.

Barry couldn’t handle everything, and besides, being out there in the field helped to ground Cisco. To give him a sense of purpose. It had become his retreat when the memories of paradoxes and the fractured timeline overwhelmed him. In the field, on their own secret missions, it was just him and Hartley and their brains, working to help the people of this city. It was peaceful...at least when they weren’t being shot at.

*

“That was _awesome_!” Cisco clapped Hartley on the back as they slipped into an alleyway, the sirens getting progressively louder as the police approached. They had finally rescued Brzezinski and were one step closer to taking the ring out for good.

Hartley grinned back at him, and Cisco was shocked at how young he looked. He sometimes forgot they they were nearly the same age (yes Hartley, being one year older was only five percent older than Cisco, and therefore ‘nearly the same age,’ Cisco repeatedly told him). And he realized, too, that he was being selfish. In the aftermath of Barry’s sixteen-year paradox, Cisco had been so focused on fixing himself that he didn’t see it at first, but with the loopy little grin on Hartley’s face, he knew now that he wasn’t the only one in need of these midnight outings.

Hartley had demons of his own reflected in his eyes -- demons that Cisco wasn’t yet acquainted with. It was only fair, given Cisco hadn’t shared the nightmares with Hartley, and he wanted to ask, he really did, but...time and place for everything.

“C’mon, let’s get changed.” He opened a breach in front of them. “I know a great dive bar on Milwaukee.”

“Dive bar?” Hartley scrunched his nose when they were back in Cisco’s apartment.

“What? There’s more to life than high-end cocktail lounges and rooftop bars.” Old habits died hard, apparently; he couldn’t stop himself from ribbing Hartley every now and again. Cisco pulled off the goggles. “Anyway--”

He turned to Hartley, did a double-take, and was about to comment on the impossibility of Hartley Rathaway wearing a pair of slim-fitted jeans and a plain black t-shirt (casual attire he wasn’t aware Hartley even owned) when he stumbled. “Oh…”

There was a sharp pain in his side, and was that blood on his hands? He really did have something to say about Hartley’s surprisingly pedestrian attire, but his head was spinning and his vision was blurring around the edges and he vaguely heard Hartley calling his name before he blacked out.

*

Cisco first noticed the searing pain just below his ribs on his right side. Too exhausted to open his eyes, he reached his fingers down for a feel, dreading what he might find there. Hey, he was a pretty tactile guy.

But when he felt the ragged edges of a bandage there, he peeked open one eye, then the other, and...Caitlin was there, standing at the foot of his bed, arms crossed like she meant business.

“Uh…” he coughed, and Hartley scurried in from somewhere outside of his field of vision with a glass of water. “Thanks, Hart.” He realized his use of the nickname immediately after it came out, which, if anyone was questioning it, he was totally blaming his pain and drug-addled brain. As it was, Hartley was already scowling at the nickname, but thankfully didn’t say anything.

“Wanna tell me how you ended up with a bullet in you?” Cait asked impatiently.

“Um, wrong place, wrong time?” Cisco gulped down a few pulls of water and passed the glass back to Hartley, who shook his head minutely in warning.

“Goggles?” Caitlin dropped the Vibe goggles at his feet. “Police documents?” She dumped the contents of several manilla folders right on top of the goggles. And where had she even been hiding those? “You could’ve been killed!”

“You told her?!” Cisco hissed at Hartley.

“What was I supposed to say? You left the papers all over your apartment. It was like a pigsty. And it was either call Caitlin, or go to the hospital with a bullet wound you couldn’t explain.”

“I’m still here,” Caitlin cut in, all but shouting now. “I mean, what the hell were you guys thinking? If you died, none of us would’ve even known until Joe got the call for a John Doe in the middle of some alley.”

“But--”

“And then the cops would’ve searched your apartment and found all the stolen documents. You would’ve been remembered as a criminal. Is that how you want your parents to find out?”

“Jesus, Cait.” Cisco groaned and sat up as best he could. As crappy as his parents had been, he didn’t want them to find out he was a metahuman _and_ a junior vigilante in one fell swoop. Not like this. “We just...I didn’t want to worry anyone, that’s all.”

“By shutting us all out?” Cait asked wryly. “You could’ve at least asked Barry for help. You guys have your secret crime-fighting schtick when you think the rest of us aren’t looking.”

“Unbelievable. That was two years ago and you’re still mad about it.” They apologized! It had just been so exciting testing out the limits of Barry’s powers and seeing how many people they could save.

“Don’t change the subject.” Cait sighed. “Look, just promise me you’ll keep me in the loop, and get Barry’s help next time, okay.”

“Right. _Barry_ ,” Cisco said. He definitely sounded sour, and he knew it.

“Something wrong?” Cait raised an eyebrow and looked from Cisco to Hartley, who just shrugged, looking uncomfortable the way little Cisco had when his parents got into a heated argument and forgot he was even in the room.

But dammit. This wasn’t even about Barry, and somehow his name had crept up and usurped the narrative. Cisco’s just trying to do his own thing, stay in his own lane, mind his own business and not bother anyone else, when out of left field came the name _Barry Allen_. Again. And he realized he might’ve _maybe_ sounded a little petty right now, but seriously. Even when Barry wasn’t in the same room, everything Cisco did was viewed through the lens of the Flash. With his family, it was never-ending comparisons to Dante. With the STAR crew, it was Barry.

And all Cisco wanted -- all he was asking for -- was just one little week where he didn’t have to deal with that. He knew Caitlin meant well, he was just so _tired_.

Maybe that was why he was enjoying Hartley’s company so much; as much as Hartley had derided him in the old timeline, when it was just the two of them now, it was like they just _existed_. In their own little world. No comparisons to Barry or Dante or anyone else he wouldn’t be able to measure up to. It was _refreshing_.

Cisco wasn’t about to tell any of that to Caitlin, though.

“This can’t be about Barry, Cait. What happens if he decides to go off and do his own thing again?” She frowned slightly, but Cisco could tell she was listening nonetheless. “Or what if something happens to him? You know the team is my family and I’m with you guys one thousand percent, but Barry already does so much for us, and I think we need to learn to rely on him a little less.”

Cait sighed again, walked over to the bedside, and plopped down by Cisco’s face. “You’re right.”

“Wait. I am?”

“Barry looks so tired lately, he really needs a break. But Cisco, I’ve already lost so much.” Cisco could see the unshed tears glistening at the corners of her eyes, and he could feel the warble in his own throat that spread down to his heart and threatened to break it. “I can’t lose you, too. Either of you. You’re...you’re important to me.”

Cisco looked at Hartley, who was shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot, obviously very unsure of how to deal with such declarations of feelings and friendship, and back at Caitlin, who still looked like she was trying her best to hold it together.

And that, more than anything, broke his resolve. He was just so caught up in trying to fix himself, to recover from the last sixteen years that hadn’t actually happened, that he ended up doing the thing he hated most of all: putting his struggles above everyone else’s. In front of him was one of his best friends -- one who’d suffered more in the last two years than most people would in an entire lifetime -- and he had just... _poof!_ Forgotten about her pain. Erased it in the face of his own.

Maybe this was how Barry felt everyday, except...no. He had to believe that there was a healthy medium here, otherwise he was the world’s biggest hypocrite.

Cisco took Caitlin’s hand gently, and said, “you won’t lose me. And you’re right, too: I can’t do this alone.” Cait smiled back at him. “Join us? You can do some comms work and Dr. Snow’ing for us.”

She rolled her eyes, but it was an exasperated fondness that Cisco was familiar with. “Who says I want to join to begin with?”

“Please. You love poking and prodding me when I’m down. I’m marking that down as a _yes_. That okay with you, Hart?”

There it was again. Cisco had to say, though, it rolled off the tongue pretty easily. And Hartley didn’t seem to mind it this time, so it was fine, really.

Hartley nodded, and walked over to the bed, reaching his hand out to shake Caitlin’s. “Pleasure to have you on board, Dr. Snow.”

Cisco rolled his eyes at Caitlin, and gestured at Hartley. “This guy. Can you believe him?”

“It’s good to have the three of us back together,” Caitlin said. “It feels like it’s been awhile since it was just us.”

Hey, she was right, when Cisco thought about it. “Alright, alright! Here’s to the OG Team STAR!” he clapped his hands together and pulled Hartley and Caitlin in by the shoulders, but winced when the twinge of pain shot up his side.

“Get some rest, Cisco.” Caitlin patted him on the shoulder and stood up. “I’ve got to get back to the lab, but I’ll check in tomorrow. Don’t get into anymore trouble, ‘kay?”

“When have I ever done that?” He stuck his tongue out at her, which he was sure must have looked ridiculous given that he was still wincing through the pain. “And Cait? One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell the others just yet, okay? I’ll tell them eventually, but on my own terms and in my own way.”

“Alright, deal. I’m holding you to it, though,” she said sternly. “See you tomorrow.”

When the front door shut behind her, Hartley pulled up a chair, looking like he was getting comfy for the long haul.

“Wait. You don’t have to--”

“Shut up, Cisco.”

*

Cisco realized he had a slight problem at about the fifth time he had zoned out while Hartley was trying to talk to him that night. Slight problem, since, really, it wasn’t a big deal. So what if he found it relaxing to listen to Hartley’s voice? It was soothing.

And if Cisco was more at ease after a long night of nightmares when he was chewing the fat with Hartley? Well, he saw no need to say anything about that little revelation, least of all because Hartley would probably be smug for days.

*

Cisco was back on his feet in a couple of days. The bullet wound up leaving a nice scar, which was fine when he didn’t think about how close he had come to dying. Just a few inches to the left would have been his stomach. A foot up would have been his heart. Still, he had seen his doppelgänger let a crap ton of bullets pass through him like some legitimate matrix-level shit, so he figured there were still many facets of his powers yet to be discovered.

And in these past couple of days, he’d learned quite a bit about Hartley: namely that he had a gooey and fluffy center, a fact that Hartley would deny to his last breath. He showed up to Cisco’s everyday that he was laid up in bed. Turned out Hartley could actually cook a decent meal, but when Cisco passed him a legitimate compliment, Hartley muttered something about unrefined palettes and graphic tees. In fact, anytime Cisco tried to acknowledge what an otherwise good human being Hartley Rathaway was (past speedster-murdering intentions that may or may not have ever happened notwithstanding), Hartley froze up, blushed furiously, and pretended not to hear it.

Needless to say, Cisco was delighted.

He swooned playfully. “Aww, you _do_ care.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Come on, we need to work on these new cases.”

Cisco batted his eyelashes. “Admit that you care about me, and we can.”

“You’re being a child,” Hartley muttered, but the solid shade of red his face was transitioning to was giving Cisco life. There was something adorable about a flustered Hartley, kind of like a cat that pretended to hate its owner at first, but was really kind of affectionate once you peeled back the cold exterior.

Hartley had Feelings with a healthy side of emotional constipation, no doubt about it.

“Oh, come on, just admit it.” He draped an arm around Hartley’s shoulders and pulled him close. Hartley, who was doing his dishes for him because Caitlin had forced him to refrain from any and all physical activity.

“ _Cisco_ ,” Hartley whined, and slammed down the frying pan he was washing so hard that Cisco flinched.

Whoa.

“Do you really have to keep rubbing it in my face?”

“What?” Cisco genuinely had no idea what Hartley was talking about. That had gone from zero to a hard thousand far too fast.

“I’m not like you, Cisco. I don’t have friends.”

“But you--”

“Not even Wells -- _Eobard_ \-- was my friend, even though I thought he was. I’m trying my best, but I...I just would appreciate it if you stopped laughing at me...please,” Hartley said, and slumped his shoulders in defeat.

“Hey. Whoa. That’s not -- I’m literally…” Cisco took a moment to gather his thoughts. He really, really didn’t want to screw this up. “Look, Cait and Ronnie were literally the first friends I ever had, and I was _twenty_ when I met them. Making friends isn’t about...I dunno, getting someone else’s approval, or -- or being the best at doing something. It’s about finding someone who accepts you for who you are. Every part of you.”

Hartley didn’t say anything, just stared at Cisco like he was some enigma that held the answers to the universe.

“It ever occur to you that I actually enjoy your company?” Cisco asked.

“...what?”

“When we hang out,” Cisco said. “I’m not laughing at you or making fun of you. Okay, maybe the fact that your crime fighting getup looks like a jedi cloak--” Hartley scowled, “--but I _like_ that you’re a closet nerd and get all the _Firefly_ references I make. I _like_ that you get all flustered when I point out you’re a good friend. And I get if that’s too much for you, but hey, you knew what you were signing up for when you decided to be my friend.”

“Cisco…”

Cisco gave him a casual shrug. “You’re stuck with me, dude.”

“It’s not the _worst_ thing in the world,” Hartley said, but at this point, Cisco knew what he really meant: _I’m happy to be here_.

“Damn straight it’s not. Now let’s go, we’ve got cases to solve and people to save,” Cisco said. He did his best to project a grand tone.

Hartley’s eyes lit up, not unlike a small child on Christmas morning. “And your suit. I had another idea for the first iteration.” Like Cisco said: layers on layers on layers.

“Dude, you said that like, three fittings ago. This better be the most amazing suit in the history of spandex, because even Barry’s suit didn’t take this long.”

*

Life moved on, and naturally, Cisco was back at STAR Labs by week’s end. The others had been told that he was out with a bad case of the flu, and it took all of his and Cait’s efforts to convince the others that Cisco didn’t need any mother henning. Still, Iris had managed to force her way in a few times, and even Hartley couldn’t keep her out. Barry, on the other hand, was a different story. Without being told, Hartley must have sensed there was _Something_ between him and Barry that Cisco wasn’t comfortable with -- bless him -- because he did his best to politely shoo Barry away on the couple of occasions he’d shown up.

Cisco still felt a little (okay, totally) guilty for keeping Barry out of the loop, but the alternative was a serious, heart-to-heart that would inevitably involve talking out that nasty business with the paradox. And Cisco knew how this worked. Once Iris got wind there was Something going on, she’d force them to talk it out.

Naturally, keeping quiet about his powers and his extracurriculars was for the best, at least for the time being.

But sometimes, on nights like this one when he was holed up alone in STAR, he allowed himself to use his powers freely: a vibration of the molecules in his cold coffee for instant reheating, amplifying the max volume on his phone speakers and _really_ jamming out, fun stuff like that.

He must’ve dozed off at some point, because the next thing he knew, there was a hand on his shoulder shaking him awake. And the thing about developing metahuman powers was that they tended to come out when you least expected them. Case in point: Cisco startled, shoved at the offending arm, and accidentally sent a small shockwave. The body hit the floor before Cisco even realized what was happening.

Wait.

He recognized that sensible sweater and plaid.

“Hartley?! Shit.” Cisco dashed over as fast as he could. He’d been promising himself after Warehouse Incident the First that he’d whip himself into shape...eventually. It just hadn’t happened yet.

Hartley groaned, and sat up.

“Are you okay?” Cisco asked, wincing when Hartley rubbed at his shoulder blades.

“It’ll probably bruise, but I’m fine. Thanks for that, by the way,” Hartley said dryly.

“Sorry, man. I just...shit, you startled me, and I didn’t mean to…”

Hartley raised a knowing eyebrow. “Nightmares?”

“Uh, something like that. How did you know?” Was he really that obvious?

“You look like you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks,” Hartley said softly. “You’re pale. You’ve got bags under your eyes that look like they’re going to drag your whole face off with them.” Cisco scowled. “Even Barry’s noticed.”

“What?”

“He cornered me after work yesterday and asked if I knew what was wrong with you. And that’s another thing,” Hartley said as he stood up. “What’s even going on with you and Barry? He looks like a kicked puppy every time your name comes up, and I’m tired of feeling like a villain when he mopes at me.”

Yup, that sounded about right. Those puppy dog eyes were lethal. Hartley and Barry talked occasionally, though? About him? That was a development Cisco wasn’t sure he really liked. They were grown adults who were allowed to do whatever they wanted, but he preferred they not discuss him behind his back.

“It’s nothing,” Cisco mumbled. “It’ll pass soon.”

“Soon? It’s been _weeks_ , Cisco. Is it related to the nightmares?” Cisco couldn’t bring himself to meet Hartley’s eyes. “Whatever’s going on--” Hartley put his hands on Cisco’s shoulders and refused to continue until Cisco tipped his chin up, “--you know you can talk to me about it, right?”

“I know,” Cisco whispered. He didn’t say anything more though. Trust wasn’t exactly what he was looking for, here. Okay, he definitely wasn’t going out of his way to stress the others out with all this timeline business, but his main issue was no one could comprehend what he had experienced. It was one thing to tell the story like  it was some impressive feat of fiction, but this was Cisco’s past, present, and maybe future, if these vibes of the fractured timeline didn’t stop soon.

Hartley looked disappointed, but didn’t mention it further. “Let’s get you home. What are you even doing here so late?”

Right on cue, Wally strolled into the Cortex looking way too chipper for 2 A.M. on a Tuesday. “Ready to learn how to use the lathe, professor!”

Cisco loved the guy, but he was like a ray of sunshine on top of a Sunday morning hangover right now. He scrubbed his eyes and plastered on a grin. “Right this way, star pupil of mine.”

Wally giggled and started to follow, until a firm hand on Cisco’s wrist stopped him.

“Are you serious?” Hartley rolled his eyes slowly, the way he usually did when he wanted someone (usually Cisco) to feel especially stupid. “You’re going to kill yourself trying to use the lathe on an hour of sleep.”

“But Wally’s already here!”

“You’ll just have to reschedule, then,” Hartley said primly.

“You could teach me,” Wally said. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, excited and eager. “Right? The CSO of Mercury Labs has to know how to use a lathe.”

“That’s...not a bad idea.” Cisco wagged his eyebrows at Hartley, who sighed. And with Wally’s grin at bursting point, he figured the two of them were driving a pretty hard deal.

“Fine.” Hartley grumbled and muttered to himself, probably things that were not quite insulting even though Hartley wanted them to think they were, if Cisco had to guess. He tossed a pair of goggles at Wally and said, “let’s go.”

Cisco grinned. That was character development if he had ever seen it. Now, if only he could focus on himself...

*

“Remember, you are safe when you hear my voice. Relax. You are so safe that you know you can tell me anything,” Hartley said in a low, soothing voice.

Cisco frowned. There was a sense of unease creeping in with the relaxation.

“There’s no need to worry,” Hartley continued, evidently catching on to Cisco’s unease. “You’re safe with me. Listen to my voice.”

And Cisco found himself relaxing further.

“Tell me what it is that’s plaguing your dreams. It feels good to tell me. You feel even safer when you tell me, all your tension just melting away.”

Cisco felt his throat muscles working to form words, to tell Hartley everything, and that wasn’t right, was it? He had asked Hartley to use the gauntlets and hocus pocus to help him fall asleep, but the last hour had been a blur, hazy and nebulous instead of the razor-sharp focus from the first time Hartley had hypnotized him.

The first thing Cisco had done after that session was to read up on hypnosis. And Hartley had been right; Cisco had double and tripled checked, and it was true: a person couldn’t be hypnotized to act against his will.

But as Hartley continued to weave a pattern with his words that was incredibly calming, Cisco found himself _wanting_ to tell Hartley everything. There was a spark of fear deep in Cisco’s chest, but that, too, faded away as Hartley continued to speak. The haze thickened like a fog over the shore.

Like Hartley didn’t _want_ him to remember any of the past hour, Cisco suddenly realized.

“Just relax. I want you to forget everything I’ve told you so far. You still feel safe hearing my voice. You want to tell me about the nightmares when you hear my voice, but you’ll forget that I’ve asked you about them,” Hartley said, voice smooth as silk.

And just like that, Cisco found the words slipping like sand through his fingers, past his conscious awareness to somewhere deeper.

“Breathe easy, and know that you’re safe here with me.”

Cisco inhaled and exhaled. He could feel his resistance crumbling, but why was he even resisting to begin with? It felt so much better to just give in. “The dreams...they…” He felt even better as the words came tumbling out.

This...it wasn’t right. Cisco could feel himself trembling now with the effort of holding it in.

Hartley shushed him, a gentle whisper that seemed to float through Cisco’s ears. He talked about everything and nothing. Cisco was aware the words were complete gibberish, but none of that seemed to matter. Just the sound of Hartley’s voice was enough to take the fight out of him.

A bead a sweat rolled down Cisco’s forehead and into his eye, and he focused on the vibrations of the water molecules as they swished over his cornea. It helped to ground him. To drown out Hartley’s voice.

He absolutely needed to get the gauntlets away from Hartley, and fast. But his limbs, jelly-like, refused to cooperate, and the best he could do was a small twitch of his fingers.

Hartley only stared at him with sadness and determination in his eyes. _Resolved_. Like this was an unpleasant task he wished with all his heart he didn’t have to undertake, but did anyway for the greater good.

Cisco took in the other sounds around him. Even in the silence of his apartment, there was a veritable fracas of vibrations and harmonies and melodies when he really opened up his mind. The beating of his heart, or Hartley’s, the thrumming of the fluorescent light bulbs overhead. And the more he focused on those sounds, the easier it became to filter out the frequency from Hartley’s gauntlets. Hartley was speaking, but the words began to lose their sway.

Cisco’s heart pounded with the effort. Almost home free.

When the haze finally lifted, it was like a bucket of ice water to his face. Cisco blinked. Once. Twice. Full awareness hitting him all at once, his body back online.

And Hartley looked like a kid caught with his fingers in the cookie jar, which reminded Cisco that he was supposed to be angry about this.

“Are you serious, dude?”

Hartley looked on defiantly. “I’m not sorry.”

“Really? Because you might as well have just roofied me instead. I _told_ you I didn’t want to talk about it, what part of that did you not understand?” Cisco stood up now that his muscles were cooperating again; stumbled when his legs gave out, still like putty from Hartley’s instructions; and settled for sitting on the floor, back leaned against the couch.

“How about the part where this is obviously eating away at you? You look like shit, Cisco. You barely sleep, you’re jumpy, and you’re not eating. I’ve been with you for the past three days, so don’t even try to lie.”

“And this isn’t your fight. I’m telling you to drop it.”

“Your team was worried about you. _I’m_ worried about you. How the hell am I supposed to help if you won’t even let me in?” Hartley was shouting, a rare departure from his composed tones. It was certainly a sight to see.

“You wouldn’t understand. None of you guys would.” In fact, the only person who would understand was the last person he wanted to speak to right now…

“Oh, I think I’m beginning to understand.” Hartley was standing now, hovering over Cisco, and the dynamic was all wrong, but Cisco still wasn’t sure his legs were up to the task of standing just yet. And whose fault was that? “You think you have this great burden to the world that you and only you can bear, so you try to be a hero by keeping it all to yourself. You push your friends away out of some misguided sense of nobility, even when they’re desperately trying to get through to you. Sound familiar?”

Cisco swallowed. There wasn’t much he could reasonably say to that. It felt like he’d been slapped. Self-awareness was a bitch, and Cisco had been floundering around this entire time disappointed in Barry without realization how problematic his own actions were becoming. Was it only a matter of time before he did something that affected the team without consulting them first?

He was so, so tired of the vibes and the nightmares and keeping this all to himself.

“Fine,” Cisco said. “You want to know what’s got me so terrified?” He held his hand out to Hartley as if asking for support to stand up, but instead used the contact to pull Hartley into his vibe. It was a dirty trick, really, but if Hartley wanted to know so badly, then here it all was. Cisco gathered up all the memories, condensed and swirling and thoroughly toxic, and thrust them at Hartley.

Hartley flinched, but Cisco refused to let go. There wasn’t any other way he could think of to make Hartley understand. Not when Hartley was convinced this was something that could be fixed if they just talked it out. Hartley was pale as a sheet now, eyes glassy and unseeing. His fingers were trembling and cold as ice.

The minutes passed by in silence. Cisco could feel the beat of Hartley’s heart, the soft buzzing of his refrigerator, the argument his neighbors were having over whose turn it was to do the dishes.

When Hartley finally pulled away, he was gaping like a fish out of water. “I...I had no idea. How did you...how _do_ you deal with that every day?”

Cisco shrugged. “See what I’m talking about now?”

Hartley let out a low whistle and plopped onto the couch. “We’ll figure something out,” he said softly.

Well...Cisco wasn’t going to hold his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check me out on [tumblr](http://st4rlabsforever.tumblr.com)


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